


What You Can't Deduce

by theheartofadetective



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Post Reichenbach, Sherlolly - Freeform, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 33,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartofadetective/pseuds/theheartofadetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes logic and deduction does not give you all of the answers, and Molly Hooper is not something Sherlock has all of the answers to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If she ever again came across the path of Jim from IT, she swore she would kill him. After Sherlock pointed out the fact that Jim was so obviously gay, she ended their “relationship.” It wasn’t anything serious, it had only been a few dates, and it had been a peaceful break-off, but this was not what infuriated her. Nothing he could ever do to her would ever compare to the rage she felt in her heart from what he tried to do to the people she cared for, what Jim did to _him._

James Moriarty, consulting criminal, had killed the love of her life, and threatened the others around her she cared for. The death of Sherlock Holmes was something Molly Hooper would have thought to be the saddest passing she could ever experience, but it went much differently than she had expected.

_Molly, I think I’m going to die._

Molly bit her lower lip nervously as she ran the words over and over in her head; she couldn’t even begin to process what she had just done. She helped Sherlock fake his own death; she didn’t have much choice really, it was this, or she may have been forced to deal with an actual corpse sitting in her morgue.

This was the most dangerous and most certainly the riskiest thing Molly Hooper had ever done in her life. It was risking _everything_ \- her life, her job, her pathology license- it was everything she had worked for, but one man was always able to convince her to do what he needed.

_What do you need?_

It was her response; it would always be her response when he needed something. She was the only one that could help him, the only one as of right now who knew this was all fake, but this did not stop her from letting the tears flow. She had no idea what was going to happen after this, but Sherlock would be waking up soon. She needed to recompose herself and get him cleaned up so that she could get him back to her flat right away.

_You do count- you’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you._

She finished the routine paperwork she had to fill out, writing down everything Sherlock had explained to her and let out a sigh. She rubbed her hands over her eyes, wiping the tears away. “You can do this, Molly,” she encouraged herself. “He’s depending on you right now; there’s no one else he can turn to.”

She cleaned his body of any blood and knew she needed to change his clothes. It would be best to do this before he woke up, it would be less painful for him; he was covered in bruises.

She pulled off his clothes, her cheeks turning pink as she had never seen Sherlock with most of his clothes off- or any of his clothes off rather. For a slight moment she let her mind wander to places it should not have, especially for the severity of the situation, and then shook her head to relieve herself from the tempting images. She then placed the new clothes on them; boring, ordinary clothes, to help him to blend in. They would have to be as cautious as possible on the way back to her flat.

She paced back and forth, she had nothing else to do but wait for him to wake up now. She wrung her hands, itching for some sign that he was becoming conscious again. These few minutes seemed to go by so slow, and she couldn’t take it.

She walked over to him and hand shaking, she subconsciously grabbed his hand and looked at his face, using the other hand to fix a piece of hair that was out of place.

His hand twitched in hers and she let a small smile of relief spread over his face. He did not open his eyes, but she knew he was finally stirring.

“Sherlock,” she exhaled quietly, “you’re alive, you’re safe,” she said to assure herself, trying to keep calm.

He opened his eyes, and his vision was blurry as he tried to sit up. Molly was always timid around him, but as a doctor and in his state, she knew when she needed to be serious.

As gently as she could, she put her hand on his chest to stop him from getting up. “ _Don’t._ Not yet. You’re going to be too sore and too dizzy for sporadic movement, Sherlock. Just wait a moment.”

He grunted, doing as she said, but only because it _did_ hurt to move- it hurt terribly.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her eyes wide and glassy.

His head was still spinning and he could feel the pain all over; he briefly looked into her eyes and saw how frightened and concerned she was, but a moment later averted his eyes to look anywhere else. “Obviously,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Were it not the case, I would not have regained consciousness.” Even in his battered state, he would avoid seeming weak if he could.

She nodded, he was fine- battered and bruised, but still the same old Sherlock. She didn’t know what to say; _she_ was the same old mousy pathologist, who would probably just stammer and stutter trying to speak to him.

* * *

 

He had refused her help at first, trying to play it off like he could walk all on his own. He limped for a few steps, and almost fell on the stairs on the way up to Molly’s flat. “You- you’re going to get yourself-“

“Molly, please,” he said, closing his eyes, clearly frustrated. His head was pounding and his body was aching. “I’m fine.”

She fumbled to get the keys in the door. Sherlock had one arm around her shoulder while Molly had her unoccupied arm around his waist, trying to hold him steady. It was tough for her though, she was so much smaller than him, so tiny, but she tried her best to keep him up.

They got in the door and she helped him lie down on the sofa and was quiet, letting him try and think; she knew that was what he needed. She went into the kitchen and brought him back a cup of tea, a glass of water, and some pain medication.

She fiddled with her hands, looking down at the floor, clearly trying to find something to say, but he kept his eyes shut and his hands steepled together against his mouth.

“Since you are one of the best of your field at Bart’s, I would assume you would be able to get medication that is stronger than that,” he said, his eyes still closed and he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I-well… Sherlock-”

“Molly.”

“I don’t think giving you something stronger would have been a good idea. They won’t notice medications like this go missing, but anything stronger and they’d trail it back,” she said quickly.

“That is not _why_ you didn’t get stronger narcotics though,” his eyes were open now, looking at the ceiling.

“Well, with your history… I just- I don’t want you to relapse. This wouldn’t be a good time for you to have to fight addiction again… I’m-I’m sorry, I was just thinking-“

He waved his hand at her, already having known the answer. “I was just making an observation,” he said as he reached over to the coffee table, wincing as he went to grab the medication. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to subside, but in an instant there was a gentle hand on his elbow, preventing him from moving. He opened his eyes and looked up at the caring pathologist.

“I’m here to help you, Sherlock. It’s going to be at least a few days before you can move without feeling much pain.” She handed him the medication and a glass of water. 

* * *

 

He laid there silently on the sofa, trying to sort everything that had happened in the past few hours; the medication was finally kicking in and he could ignore the pain long enough to wander through the mind palace. He also figured now would be the best time since Molly was in the shower.

Molly was the only one who knew he was alive, and he had no idea when, or if he could ever redeem himself as Sherlock Holmes again. It wasn’t the publicity that mattered or redeeming himself to the public; he could care less what people thought of him, but Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and _John._ John Watson, his best friend; Sherlock had told John on the rooftop to believe everything that they were saying about him, that he was a fraud, and with those last few words- his “note”- he jumped off of the roof of Bart’s and was now living a lie. He tried not to let emotions get in the way, but this was a truly overwhelming subject.

This probably wasn’t over; and he didn’t know how long he would be able to stay here at Molly’s. He couldn’t put her at risk, but he also wouldn’t get very far in the current state that he was in. He would have to figure something out.

Molly came back out, dressed and clean, and was going to ask Sherlock if he wanted help getting to her bed, but she saw that he was already fast asleep. She knew it was much more comfortable sleeping on her bed than on her uncomfortable sofa, but he must have been so tired, she thought it was best to let him rest. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock awoke the next morning to hear quiet mumbles coming from the other room. There was medication and another glass of water that was close enough that he wouldn’t need to hurt himself too much to take it; Molly had placed it there for him.

As he popped the medication into his mouth, he sat back on the sofa, knowing he would not be able to get up until the medication had kicked him. He listened in to the phone conversation Molly was having.

Molly was pacing down her hallway, away from the sitting room where Sherlock was, but whenever she came into the kitchen, Sherlock could catch a glimpse of her.

She was holding back sobs. “I know, John. I know- that it’s going to be really hard, but we’re going to get through this, alright? One day at a time, and it will get easier.”

Sherlock listened curiously, knowing that John was hurting, but kept his facial expression flat. She didn’t know he was awake yet, but she would notice it soon. She worried so much that her eyes would look over to him within the next few minutes to check up on him.

“I’m so sorry, John.- Of course, of course, I’ll be at the funeral, you know I wouldn’t miss that. I know you’re going to need me there. If you need anything, just let me know,” she said, as tears were running down her cheeks.

She was quiet for a moment and stopped when she reached the kitchen, looking a little frightened by what she was hearing. “Oh no- no, John, it’s okay. I’ll be alright,” she said, trying to compose her voice. “It’s not necessary for you to come all the way over here, I couldn’t ask you to do that; but if you need me to come over there, or if you’d like to get coffee, just let me know.”

She closed the phone and wiped her eyes, this was the beginning of the lies she would have to live with, and it was extremely difficult just over the phone. She wasn’t sure how she was going to be able to handle it at the funeral. _The funeral._ That was going to be dreadful, she wished she didn’t have to go next week, but it was necessary.

She looked over to see Sherlock awake, looking at the ceiling again and she shoved her phone in her pocket nervously. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked, giving a small smile and trying to look hopeful.

“Fine,” he said, looking to her. “Shouldn’t you be at Bart’s?”

“I called out; they gave me a personal day since they knew I was close… since I knew you.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t be moving all around my flat while it hurts you to move. You should be in a hospital right now.”

“They don’t exactly treat the dead, Molly.”

She sighed, “well, you should be treated like a hospital patient, which is why I’m going to take care of you,” she said, blushing furiously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I hardly need caring for; when my medication kicks in, I’ll be fine to move around.”

She gave up trying to argue with him verbally, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him get up and try and waltz around by himself. She sat quietly in the sitting room with him until she eventually convinced him that it would be best for him to lay in her bed where it was more comfortable.

“I still don’t see why this is nec-”

“Sherlock,” she closed her eyes and frowned, trying her best to get through to him. “Please, can you please just listen, for once?” she asked. She was trying to be calm, but for such a brilliant man, he couldn’t get this one idea through his skull. He was _incredibly_ stubborn. “The sooner you are resting and off of your feet and in a comfortable position, the quicker you will be able to get around without my help. Which is what you want, yes?”

He frowned, knowing that she was right, but that did not mean he was very willing to admit it.

“Your point is valid,” he said clearly annoyed. He was acting like a child about all of this; too stubborn for his own good and not wanting to listen, but she finally got through to him.

 

* * *

The next week passed, and Molly was not needed to help him as much. Every day he could move around a bit more and eventually just stopped taking the medication and was moving around freely.  He was quiet for the most part, and as much as he had been whining, he didn’t want to move around much; he mainly just wanted Molly to stop feeling the need to take care of him. He wasn’t weak, he could handle it.

Sherlock had come out of the shower to find Molly home a little bit early from work. She was curled up on the couch and already asleep. She had been clearly exhausted and stressed from the situation that had been taking up most of her time for the past week. Her face was stained from tears running down her cheeks, he could see them clearly on her face; she had fallen asleep crying.

He sighed, not sure what he was feeling at the moment. Guilt? No, Sherlock Holmes _rarely_ felt guilty, and did not need to justify what he was doing. He had no choice but to do what he did.

Though, it did not mean that Molly deserved to have all of this pressure put on her. He had not been the kindest to her over the past week. The pain had made him more irritable on top of everything else. He spent his time shutting her down and insulting her.

He closed his eyes, forcing the emotions he was experiencing out of his mind and placed a blanket over Molly. Tomorrow was a big day for her; she would have to face everyone at his funeral. 


	3. Chapter 3

Molly held onto the sink and closed her eyes, breathing in and out. This was going to be so stressful. She had no idea _how_ in the hell she was going to be around these people she cared about and have to lie to their faces. She knew it was for Sherlock, but this was part of the burden that he didn’t understand.

She got that this was worse for Sherlock, after all, he was the one who had to hide out and pretend he was dead, but she had to face _them_. This was incredibly overwhelming and at this point she had only spoken to John on the phone, she had not seen anyone in person since the incident. She was expected to be falling to pieces, and in a way she was, trying to sort out how to deal with this, how to deal with _him._ He was not helping at all.

He had been rude and crass and inconsiderate of her, and when he wasn’t in one of his moods, he was ignoring her. Oh yes, all the better. She understood that sometimes, this is how Sherlock worked, but, she was underappreciated. How did it always come to that?

She was a good person, but was she too nice?

No, she cared for him, very deeply- more than Sherlock would ever be able to understand. Why was she worrying about this now? She had more important things to worry about. And wasn’t she used to this? Sherlock came to her only when he needed something, so that should be _expected_ by now.

She checked in the mirror once again to assure her hair and make-up was up to good standards and exited the bathroom. She walked into the sitting room to find Sherlock reading one of her medical journals, tapping his fingers on the arm of her sofa.

He looked up at her and closed the book in one hand. Her eyes were already glassy, and her hands were clearly shaking. She was waiting for him to say something.

“I’m not sure why you should be so nervous; you already know that I am alive.”

She looked down to the floor. “That’s not exactly the point, Sherlock.”

“Is that not the point of a funeral- to mourn someone who is no longer living?”

“Well, yes, but,” she looked around nervously. She couldn’t talk about this or she was going to lose it before she even got there.

While she was focusing on trying to stay calm, she felt his arms grip her shoulders.

“Molly, it will be fine. You will go, you will cry, and they will think you are mourning my death. The hard part is already done, and-”

She looked up into his eyes, and for a moment he looked sad, but the emotion fleeted as soon as it had crossed his features. “And?” she asked anxiously.

“Thank you, Molly Hooper, for what you did for me,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Your cab is downstairs.”

Her cheeks turned pink as she subconsciously placed her hand over where his lips had made her skin tingle. “Oh, I-I’ll see you when I get back?”

“Mmm,” he said, avoiding eye contact with her as he walked back to the sofa, not really giving a coherent answer.

She was relieved to have a spark of appreciation from Sherlock. Maybe things would be different when she returned from the funeral. God knows she would need someone to talk to when she came home from the funeral; maybe he would try to console her.

* * *

 

She was walking over towards his grave where they were waiting for her to start the small ceremony. It was only Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and John.

Mrs. Hudson was silently crying and resting her head on Molly’s shoulder as Molly rubbed her back in circles, trying her best to comfort her. Molly was very quiet, except when she said a few words to Mrs. Hudson, trying to calm her. As the ceremony ended, Mrs. Hudson left the flowers and they had Lestrade help Mrs. Hudson back to the cab so Molly could have a few moments before she left. Mycroft nodded his head at the grave as he walked away somberly.

This left John with Molly now. Her heart began to race; the tears had been silently falling down her cheek as she tried to console Mrs. Hudson, and all she could think of was the guilt. She wished more than anything that she could have just told them what happened, but she knew that could compromise their safety. Surely, Mycroft would know before any of the others would, but that would not be by Molly’s choice. When Sherlock knew it was the right time, he would tell Mycroft.

For John she felt the worst; he looked awful. She walked next to John and gave him a small, sad smile, squeezing his shoulder and then embracing him in a tight hug. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky but she was trying her best.

She pulled back and saw John’s eyes glassed over as he quickly averted his eyes to the ground, nodding to her in appreciation. She squeezed his hand and turned back to Sherlock’s grave.

She couldn’t take this any longer; she was hoping she could leave John to have a few last words and slip home. She needed to escape, get away from this so she could properly get her feelings out. She didn’t want to lose it in front of John.

“Molly, are you alright?” John asked, looking concerned. She hadn’t even noticed that she had started to cry.

“John, I’m- I’m sorry, I just… I’ve been trying to hold it together but this is just so _hard._ ”

He had given her the squeeze on the shoulder that she had given him earlier. She tried composing herself, but it was not working well. “I really need to get home,” she said, looking away.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to have to be alone if you aren’t comfortable.”

“No, I- I think that’s what I need. Thank you so much though. And if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Molly. Be safe.”

* * *

 

She didn’t care if Sherlock wasn’t sure how to deal with this, he was the only one she could talk to about everything going on, and she was going to go to him. She had done everything he had asked for, but right now, she needed him.

She barged in and burst into tears, she was crying so hard her vision was blurry. She rushed around the flat, looking for Sherlock. She assumed he was in the bedroom.

She opened the door expecting to see him there, but all she found was the extra things she had given him, clothes, toiletries, etc, sitting in a neat pile on her bed. Sherlock was nowhere to be found in the apartment.

She felt like she really had lost him now. She didn’t understand. Where was he and why was he by himself? He clearly left on purpose but she didn’t understand why. This was a question that would wrack her for months.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Today marked six months that Molly Hooper had neither heard from nor seen Sherlock Holmes. He had not left a note; she had not received a text, or a phone call. It was hard for her at first, she didn’t understand. After going through everything that they did, she still ended up losing Sherlock, just as everyone else did. For the past six months, it felt like Sherlock really _had_ really died.

What made it so difficult was that she thought there was an understanding. She knew that he would never care for her as she _does_ for him, but she thought that while he was trying to decide what to do they could share this secret and be there for each other. She very much wanted to be there for him, and felt as though it would have made it a lot easier on her to at least have him there. They could at least find consolation in knowing they could discuss this big secret between the two of them. But between the guilt and the confusion, Molly was not herself; she had never felt so alone. John had tried to talk to her a lot at first, but the guilt was eating her away and she pulled away so she didn’t have to deal with it anymore. She continued on with her work, and she still loved it, but she hated when the morgue reminded her of him.

Over the past month, she was starting to feel more herself again. She couldn’t just wallow in pity for the rest of her life. Sherlock may never come back again, that could have been the last time she would ever see him. She swallowed hard at this thought, but she had to realize that this was the truth, this was realistic, and if she had to numb herself to it to move on, then she would.

* * *

 

Molly didn’t need to do the post mortem on this body until tomorrow, but she always wanted to take a quick glance before she left the morgue, to take note of anything and formulate her thoughts overnight so she could have an idea for the early morning when she was waiting for the caffeine to settle into her brain.

She lifted the sheet up and glanced at the man. Male, thirties, with dark, curly hair. She winced at what the description reminded her of, but the face looked nothing like his. She continued to look down the rest of the body and her eyes fell onto his chest where over the man’s heart was a tattoo that read the letters _I.O.U._

She looked at it curiously; she knew she had heard that before, but where was it from? She tried to think it over, but she just wanted to get out of the lab. She shook the thought off and figured it wasn’t important, that she’d think of it later.

She finished with her paperwork and was relieved for her shift to be over.  This was one of those days she didn’t want to be in the morgue and look at the things that reminded her of him. Normally, she could push those thoughts away and remember how happy her work made her, but she was meeting with John for coffee now.  

If there was anyone that brought back memories of Sherlock, it was John. Her stomach felt uneasy at the thought. They were an amazing pair; they would have been- _should be­_ \- partners for life. They had been such opposites, but it brought out the want for adventure in John, and for Sherlock, it had brought out the more human side that Sherlock would normally try to hide.

She wanted to know what he was doing right now, she wanted more than anything to just know that he was okay. Even if she never saw him again, she would be okay just with the thought that Sherlock was alive, and safe.

* * *

 

Molly hopped out of the cab and saw John give her a small wave from the large window from inside the café. She gave a small smile and entered, sitting down next to him, and doing her best to enjoy herself. This did not have to be about Sherlock; John was her friend. She was concerned for him and how he was getting on.

They talked for a bit, John was telling her about a new job that he got at a clinic, and how he liked working with his patients.

“So tell me John,” she finally said, perking up. “Who is she?”

John gave a small laugh as his cheeks turned pink. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve met someone, I haven’t seen you this up in a while. You have that glint in your eye like you have someone on your mind.”

John ran his hand down his face, sighing, but still smiling.

“WELL?” she exclaimed.

He put his hands up, laughing. “Okay, you’ve caught me. I am guilty,” he said. “Her name is Mary Morstan.”

She let out a big smile “Mary? The nurse from Bart’s? What? Blimey John, I could slap the both of you, why have neither of you told me this!,” she said, slapping his arm playfully.

“She wanted to wait! We’ve only been on a few dates, but she- god, Molly, she’s wonderful. She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever dated before.”

Molly smiled and covered John’s hand with her own. “Well, that is certainly wonderful. I’m so glad that things are looking up for you,” she smiled whole-heartedly. “It’s about time something good start happening for you.”

John nodded and smiled back at her, “and what about you?” he asked delicately. “How have you been holding up? I haven’t seen you in a while,” he held a smile well, trying as much as Molly not to let the memories of Sherlock surface; he felt just as much pain as she did.

“I-well, I’ve been alright, John,” she said, trying her best to keep it light. She nodded, trying to keep an assured smile on her face. There was no need for her to ruin John’s good news with her lack-of anything good.

“Any nice blokes?” he winked. “I’m sure you have all the interns chasing you at Bart’s,” he half-smiled, hoping maybe she would have some new interest. He wanted her to be able to be happy, but he understood her feelings for Sherlock.

She began ringing her hands together “well, no, not exactly. I almost had a date last week, but I- I couldn’t do it, John. Thinking about him- it still hurts.”

“No, Molly, it’s okay. I understand. I still think about him every day.” John saw the sad look on her face and it was grave, and decided maybe this conversation was not a good idea. “It’s okay though, we can find something better to talk about,” he said, patting her hand.

“No, it’s okay. You understand out of anyone; you were closer to him- to _Sherlock-_ ” she said, her voice cracking, “than anyone else. You and I both love him. I know it’s not the same kind of love, but John, he cared more for you than anyone. It’s just tough being without him. It’s strange to think that we will prob- that we _will never_ see him again.” It was taking an effort not to mention him in the present tense. Normally John would not catch on to things like that, but Sherlock always paid attention to that on a case, and he had learned it from him.

This was the first time that Molly was able to let her feelings free about Sherlock. She was still keeping his secret, but she was finally able to vent, and had needed it for a long time. After a very long chat with John, she was starting to feel better. Maybe she could get over this; she had people that cared about her, and she was ready to start the healing process. She knew she should accept that she would probably never see him again.

* * *

 

Molly walked into her flat, kicking off her shoes; all she wanted to do was relax and not really think about anything important. She felt that she at least deserved that.

After about an hour watching telly she decided that she had had enough, and was ready to go to bed. As she got up and walked toward to her bedroom, a figured stood in the hallway, a few feet from her, and she stood there dumbfounded.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter, but necessary. Enjoy! :)

“I-I don’t,” Molly said, clearly unable to form a coherent thought. She looked down, not able to make eye contact with him at all.

“What do you need?” her voice cracked and sullen. The sound echoed in her ears like that of six months ago when she helped him fake his death.

“Do I need a reason to be here?” he asked.

“Sherlock-” she began, “you have never, in my entire time of knowing you, come to me unless there was something you needed me to do for you. Just- just tell me what you need,” she said, staring down at the floor.

Something about Molly was different, very different from the six months prior that he had seen her; she was sad. It was dark and hard to see her features from as far away as he was, and he could not properly deduce her in this light.

He took a step towards her but she shook her head, still refusing to look up at him.

“Molly?” he said.

Molly had spent the time composing herself. She was enraged, she could have slapped Sherlock across the face, she could have cried, and tried to get him to apologize, but didn’t think she should expect that from him.

She finally lifted her head up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were glassy, but she tried not to let herself cry. Her hands were balled up in fists as her sides, and she waited for him to ask what he needed.

“I’ve hurt you,” he said, taking another step closer to her. They were looking into each other’s eyes, but she was silent. “I didn’t tell you that I was leaving, but being here could have compromised your safety. At the time I did not even know where I was going.”

Her hands had relaxed, but tears were rolling down her cheeks now. She still wanted to be infuriated with him, but she couldn’t. “If I were John,” she began, “I should tell you what an unbelievable bastard you are,” she stated quietly as a small, sad chuckle escaped her lips and she was shaking her head.

Sherlock grabbed her hand, his face was still serious, and she could see the sincerity. “I _am_ sorry, Molly Hooper. I did not realize how- how it would make you _feel._ ”

She nodded, sighing, and he continued: “Feelings are not my area, Molly, you know that. I am only trying to protect you as I have tried to protect everyone else.”

“Now,” he said, squeezing her hand ever so gently before releasing his hand from her own, “we do not have much time, you need to pack.”

“Pack? For-for what though?”                                           

“You were right; I need your help, though I cannot give you any details until we are gone.”

She went to open her mouth but Sherlock already knew what she was going to ask. He waved his hand at her to dismiss her worry, “Mycroft has already cleared with Bart’s that you will be gone for an undisclosed amount of time, and he has someone to take your place for the time being.” Then, he added “not that he is as competent at your job as you are one of the best in your field in all of London, Dr. Hooper, but Mycroft has tried to assure me that he is a sufficient replacement.”

“I-” she began, “okay,” she agreed to, giving in and nodding. She had always trusted him, and she knew that he still could. And she was still surprised that he apologized to her. How _did_ he know that he upset her?

“Get your things, you have five minutes,” Sherlock said, gently turning her towards her bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

They had been on the train a long while, which Molly had slept through most of. For now, she was in a separate part of the train than Sherlock. He wanted to make sure no one was going to track them together until they were far away from London.

Molly awoke, not even knowing where she was going yet, but the train finally came to a hault.

She was standing there with her bags and unsure of where to go. When she spotted Sherlock walking away from her, she went to follow him, but someone approached her and stopped her, resting her hands on her arms.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” the woman said excitedly, kissing either side of Molly’s cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here for a visit. Now where has that _fiancé_ of yours gone off to?”

Molly’s eyes went wide. “I- I think,” but she stopped. No, no, this woman did not have the wrong person. This woman was Irene Adler, and it all clicked; this was entirely on purpose, of course Sherlock had a plan.

Irene entangled an arm with Molly’s and began escorting her in the direction that Sherlock had gone.

“But you were-” Molly began quietly.

“Yes, that is a trend that _I_ started, I suppose. You never _can_ trust the dead… but that doesn’t mean you cannot a good time with them,” she said, giving Molly a wink.

Molly turned from her and looked straight ahead… _did she mean Sherlock? Was she? With him?_

“Not of that sort, not with him at least, Dr. Hooper,” she said with a small pout. “Wouldn’t let me near him; and believe me, I’ve tried.”

When they were silent, Molly finally noticed her surroundings; she could hear the thick Scottish accents around her. _Scotland? Why were they in Scotland?_

* * *

She brought Molly to the car, kissed one side of her cheek and then began to walk in the opposite direction. “I’ll meet you back at my place!” she cheered with a wave, disappearing into the crowd.

She opened the car door to find Sherlock sitting in the driver’s seat, so she got in and closed the door.

As they drove, Molly wanted to say something. She was staring at Sherlock as she tried to put the pieces together, but she figured he would tell him when he felt the time was right. For now, it looked like he wanted to think.

A while had passed before Sherlock finally spoke up; Molly had been staring out the window, adoring the countryside as he drove further into it.

“Moriarty’s network is still out there, but with someone new running it,” he began. “They have to be eliminated before I can come back, but we have still found no information conducive to _who_ I must get to. I need to be sure everything is secure before I go back to London.”

“But why am I here? What do I have to do with any of this?” Molly asked.

“You are my fiancée; we are on holiday to celebrate our engagement, and we are browsing for a house to live in after we get married. We are also scouting the area out of places to work; you are a pediatrician looking for hospitals or practices to work for, and I am a professor of chemistry, looking at different universities to continue my research. We have chosen to come here because your good friend, the Woman, has settled here and has told us what a wonderful place it is. _Domestication_ is the key here, Molly; if we are to look normal, we must have a plan. Not that we will actually have to do research, but the explanation got us a flat that I did not have to lease, and can pay monthly by cash. It warmed the old woman’s heart to hear of our plans,” Sherlock said with a smirk, “an awful lot like Mrs. Hudson.”

Molly took in all the information, trying to get past the word fiancée, it sounded so strange, almost like a hiss coming from Sherlock’s mouth.

“Alright,” she nodded. “But why me? Why not Irene? I’m sure she is more suitable than me for this sort of thing,” she asked nervously.

He shook his head. “The Woman has not spent most of her time in this country. She has been tracking down members of Moriarty’s network in Ireland; she has made more progress than I because she can make herself more easily known. She’s been in hiding longer than I have; they don’t recognize her here or in Ireland. Plus, she is barely tolerable to live with the few days at a time that she comes back to relay information to me.”

“Alright… so, I’m your fiancée?” she said, trying very hard not to sound excited, it was not like it was real.

“I have just said this, haven’t I?”

“Yes, sorry,” she replied, “I’m just trying to take this all in; I need to get it right.”

“You did fine when I asked you to help me before.”

Molly was quiet and Sherlock was thinking. He didn’t know if this would work, but it was going to have to suffice for now while he tried to get more information on the network. He needed to find a name, he needed something to go off of; it was going to drive him mad. He placed the car in park as they arrived and then felt a hand squeezing his before he opened the door of the car.

“I am sorry,” Molly said as he looked down at her, she was much closer to his face than she had been before, trying to breathe evenly as she spoke; she did not want to stutter. “I’m sorry that Moriarty has done this to you. That things… have to be like this for you. It isn’t fair that you cannot return to London. And,” she hesitated, biting her lip, “you should already know that if you need anything, if there’s anything more that I can help with, all you need to do is ask.” She smiled wide and squeezed his hand tighter.

He sat there, trying to think of how to reply, he did not do well with these sorts of moments. But when he opened his mouth to say something, the familiar moan came from his phone that Irene had clearly changed again for her amusement.

Molly blushed from the sound and pulled her hand off of his. He watched her curiously for a moment before looking to his phone. She opened the door and stepping out the car, grabbed her bag as she shut the door. He always thought that he knew everything about Molly, that he could guess everything she was going to do, or say. But when she said heartfelt things to him like this, it _always_ caught him off guard. She would always say yes to something he needed, and she would always do whatever it was he asked for, but she always said things he didn’t expect her to say.


	7. Chapter 7

As Sherlock came in the door, he found Irene and Molly in the sitting room. Molly was curled up on the sofa, dived into one of her romance novels. There was not much to keep her occupied for the last two weeks, and being the avid reader she was, she just had to stash a few in her bag when she packed.  She smiled when she realized he was in the room, “hello!” she beamed, “have you found anything yet? Anything that will help you?” trying to sound upbeat even though she knew Sherlock was probably in one of his moods.

“No,” he said, pouting like that of a child. “But my help is also not doing her job.”

“I take a few hours off,” said Irene, sighing, “and you have your knickers in such a tight knot. People as serious as you should be punished.”

She seemed to think about that for a moment; “what do you say Dr. Hooper, shall we tie him up?” she gave a smirk.

“What? I-uhm…” stuttered Molly, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed scarlet.

She eyed Molly, clearly amused. “Or is it _you_ that likes to be the one who is tied up?” she asked.

“That’s enough, Miss Adler,” said Sherlock, clearly annoyed and bored by the conversation. Molly relaxed and said nothing, returning her eyes to the book, hoping to avoid any conversation like that again.

She stood up, rolling her eyes, clearly uninterested in dealing with Sherlock while he was in his mood and left the room.

* * *

 

They had been sitting there silently for a while. Molly kept her eyes on her book, but seemed to be reading the same line over and over. This was all strange; she was _engaged_ to Sherlock, but not in any real testament. This was certainly not like any of her fantasies that she had about being with Sherlock Holmes; then again, he never did anything how others did. But this was different, he didn’t feel sentiment, or wouldn’t allow himself too. Though, she would continue with this if that was what he needed; she wanted to help in any way that she could.

As she lost herself in her thoughts, the corner of her eye caught a pair of blue eyes staring at her, and she turned her head slowly, hoping that he wasn’t.

“You’ve been on that page for the last ten minutes,” Sherlock observed, tapping his fingers on the sofa.

“Yes, well....” she began, “I- I am just thinking…”

“About?”

She thought for a moment. _Shouldn’t he already know what she was thinking?_

He sighed. “I deduce, Molly; that does not mean that I am a mind reader.”

She said nothing. “Come on now, Molly- speak up,” he said, resting his chin upon his steepled hands, continuing to gaze at her.

“I’m not so sure-“

“Molly.”

“Well,” she gave in, “I’m just not sure what my purpose is here? I know I am supposed to be your fiancée and all of those other details, but I’ve just been sitting here.”

“We’re going into town tomorrow, actually.”

“Really?” she said a bit excited.

“Yes, there’s a professor from the nearby university, he seems like he could be linked to the network. I need to get more information; we are meeting him tomorrow for-”

“Dr. Hooper?” Molly heard from the next room. “Come in here, please.”

Sherlock huffed at the interruption. “Tea.”

She smiled at him, acknowledging what he said, but then got up and walked into Irene’s room, letting out a squeal.

“Molly?” she heard Sherlock say from the other room, but secretly he was smirking at her reaction because he already knew why.

“Please, Sherlock,” Irene answered, rolling her eyes, “like she has never seen a naked woman before.” There was no response and she closed the door tightly.

She slipped on the clothes she would be wearing when she left for Ireland that night and gestured Molly to sit down in the chair. Molly sat down and Irene began walking around the chair in circles as she observed all angles of Molly and spoke. “The first few days you were here, I noticed how you would look at Sherlock when he wasn’t looking at you, but you avoided eye contact with him when he spoke to you.” She was clever like Sherlock, she sounded like she was deducing Molly.

“Stupidly enough,” she stopped, looking in her eyes, “I thought you were afraid of the man, but then I realized that I was wrong.”

Molly chuckled, blushing as she did so. “Oh- no, not at all,” she said looking down at her hands.

“You’re in love with the man.”

Molly had wanted to say something, she wanted to deny it, but there was no point. It was a bit uncomfortable since Irene knew the man, knew that he was supposedly not capable of feeling _sentiment_ for anyone because he saw it as a sign of emotional weakness.

She was thinking it over; she didn’t even know why Irene was asking her. Was she… sympathizing? John had told Molly about what had happened between the two of them. It was vague, and a little unclear, but from what John said it seemed as though Sherlock had shot Irene down when she continuously asked Sherlock to have dinner with her. Molly felt she could relate though, due to her numerous failed attempts to ask Sherlock out to coffee.

“Yet you continue to care for a man that rarely considers your feelings,” she said curiously.

As Molly was silent for a few moments, Irene returned to fixing her make up now, always needing it to be perfect; she was never the type of woman to go out not looking her best, even if her current job was destroying a criminal network, and finding that name.

Molly finally spoke up: “You’re right- about me being in love with him I mean,” she hesitated for a moment before she continued. “It doesn’t matter though,” she said, looking down at her hands. “That I love him; he would never look at me that way. Well, he would never look at anyone that way; he just needs me to help. You know- the fiancée thing and all, it’s because I’ll make him look more ordinary, _domestic_ , as we know he really isn’t.”

“He observes you, you know. Most things seem to be clearly written on your face, but he looks at you like you’re a puzzle, even though most of the time he knows what you’re thinking.”

“What? Me? No,” she said, immediately dismissing the thought. She would have loved to entertain the thought for a minute, but she felt it was pointless. “I probably just bore him to death; maybe it is just that I am better than staring at a wall,” she said, biting her lip.

“You would be surprised, Dr. Hooper,” Irene said, as Molly looked up at her. “Sherlock may be a brilliant man- the brightest we’ve all known- but under all of that, under the brain that sits upon his head, is still a _man_. If you know anything about men, or even people really, desire hides under everything. It crawls under the skin that people like Sherlock Holmes callous to hide our basic feelings of want and need.”

Molly gave a shy smile, taking in her words, but she was unsure of how to respond. She milled the thoughts over in her head, staring at her nervous fingers as Irene stood. “And I am not so sure that it is _only_ desire when it comes to you,” she added, exiting the room. 


	8. Chapter 8

Molly walked alongside him with a bounce in her step. She hadn’t been out of the flat really yet, and it was nice to get out into the fresh air, and enjoy Scotland. Her father was Scottish so it brought back memories of his side of the family.

As she admired her new environment, Sherlock grabbed her hand, and her eyes went wide but as she remembered their cover, she loosened herself a bit, trying to keep in character. Cover or not, she definitely _liked_ this, but it was odd; she tried not to let herself think about the fact that it wasn’t for the right reasons for her to be happy.

As they got closer to the university, Sherlock seemed a bit on edge, but was trying to remain cool. To anyone else, he would have seemed perfectly fine, but Molly always saw through these things.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” she asked quietly.

“Fine,” he said, looking around as he stopped and turned his body towards Molly’s.

He was holding both of her hands gently now and smiled at her, as she returned the smile, but a bit confused. He continued to hold the grin as he mentioned the professor was on his way over to them as he kissed Molly’s cheek and then turned in the direction of the professor.

Sherlock was very polite, shaking the professor’s hand as they stood there for a moment, making small talk. Molly gave a wide smile to the professor, but for the most part kept quiet. She had to contain the squeal as she felt Sherlock close next to her with his hand on the small of her back.

They walked over to the café and sat down; Sherlock trying to edge his way into asking interrogation questions, but for now was giving him a further explanation of their visit.

Molly drank her tea and listened, giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze every few minutes as they talked, but Sherlock seemed to be talking more in code than he was about anything related to chemistry. She saw the man’s facial expression change dramatically as Sherlock slid a paper to him.

The man was very tense for the rest of the conversation as he checked his watch. “I really must get going, I am sorry for having to leave so soon,” he said, tapping his foot nervously as he avoided eye contact with Sherlock.

“Congratulations again, to the both of you,” he said, rushing off.

* * *

 

They spent some time walking around the shops that were a small ways off from the university, since Molly had pleaded him to let her look around. She was enjoying being in a different environment not only from the flat she had spent most of her time in currently, but from back at home. She loved London, and definitely missed it; she especially missed work. But she hadn’t gone anywhere outside of London in a long time and it was nice to have a change of scenery.

As they walked along, Molly stood close aside Sherlock, constantly looking up at him. He was quiet, and she wanted to know what was up.

“So… was he?”

“Yes, but not at all of help to me.”

“What did you say to him, I couldn’t quite understand what you were talking about?” she said as she looked in the large window of a shop, admiring the jewelry displayed in front of her. She had her eye on some of the pearls, but kept her ears attentive to Sherlock.

“I simply told him that I knew he was part of Moriarty’s network. Over the past six months I have learned a lot about the network, but I am still working on the members residing at the bottom. I thought maybe he would know something more, would accidentally give something away, but Moriarty was meticulous. That man was so obvious Moriarty would never place him on higher than a level of messenger.”

“So he doesn’t know who you are then?” she said a bit nervously, finally looking away from the window and gazing at Sherlock.

“No, he consulted with Moriarty through other people on other matters. Moriarty always wanted chemical warfare as an option if it was ever needed with _his_ consulting; he probably knew nothing of what had even happened with me. Since he did not recognize me, he probably only worked on the side projects that Moriarty would take for fun.”

Molly winced, “you weren’t positive that he wouldn’t know who you were?”

Sherlock gave a small smile, looking straight ahead as they walked. “You really think I would be so careless to risk everything I have been researching since I left London?”

“Well-” she thought.

“Mycroft has men everywhere; you just would never know it. I may be reckless, but since I have no choice but to work with my brother, some of the petty things must be on his terms.”

She sighed, feeling reassured. “And he has also brought to my attention that my life is not the only one I would be putting in danger if I were found out here,” he added, looking at her.

“Don’t worry about me, Sherlock,” she said, biting her lip. “All I want is for you to focus on the things that will allow you to go home sooner.”

“Or for _you_ to go home sooner; it is not hard to deduce that you miss London and your lab, Molly.”

“Sherlock, that’s not important...” she began. “I worry about _you._ I know as much as you won’t admit it, you miss John, and Mrs. Hudson, and surely Baker Street. It will be easier for everyone when you can be back in London and not in hiding anymore.”

* * *

 

Molly was stirred awake by loud noises coming from the kitchen, and she rubbed her eyes.

She walked out of her room to find Sherlock, and a huge mess: _everywhere._

“Sherlock- what?” she paused, looking horrified as she glanced around.

“I’ve only been asleep for…” she looked at the clock, “for two hours, what are you… what happened?”

“This is driving me insane. I _need_ a name, Molly,” he said, throwing around files and anything else he could sort through. “This is not going quick enough. The Woman is out there making progress in Ireland and I am stuck in Scotland with the low end of this network. I am getting _nothing_ done. Everyone still thinks I’m dead and everyone knows what I look like, so I can’t go to a place more populated by the network. What good am I? I need this name so we can get this over with.”

He was very twitchy, and it was making her nervous. She had known him a while before John did, and what he was like when he was misusing drugs, and this is what reminded her of it. Something wasn’t right.

“Sherlock, you’re not-”

He cut her off right there. “No.” He laid his forearm out and pushed the cuff of his sleeve up, revealing six nicotine patches.

Molly’s eyes widened, “Sherlock! What is… you can’t use that many!” she said as she was getting increasingly nervous, glancing up to his face. He was sweating and his breathing was ragged.

She pushed him down on so he was sitting on the sofa and pulled the patches off of his skin. “Toxic levels of nicotine can have really bad side effects.”

He let her pull off the patches, but said nothing.  She was getting nervous that he was going to get sick. After a few minutes she grabbed his face and looked and him, examining him like the doctor she was; his breathing was normal, and the sweating had subsided.

She sighed, but then gave a look when she saw his eyes were blood shot and there were, dark circles under his eyes.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm,” he replied, his eyes were a little heavy as he was trying to fight off sleep.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“About six days now.”

Molly winced at his words. “You need to go to sleep. Sherlock, this is not healthy at all.”

“Do not concern yourself with a dead man that is not taking proper care of himself, Molly.”

“You need to sleep.”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes wide as he was forcing them to stay open, “I’ll be fine.”

“Sherlock, Irene is supposed to call you in a few days, what if it’s information that will lead you to the next step, but you are so tired that you cannot go on to pursue it then.”

“Well- that won’t-”

“Yes, Sherlock, it will. You can only fight off sleep for so long before your body won’t give you a choice anymore. Your mind is not going to tell you anything that you don’t already know at the current moment. Like you said, you have nothing to do now, so this would be the best time to let yourself rest,” she said desperately.

She began to calm down as his eyes were getting heavy and he was clearly giving in. She grabbed his hand and helped him up, dragging him into her room but he stopped in the doorway.

“This is your bed, Molly.”

“You need _good_ rest; the sofa is not going to be sufficient enough for sleeping well. You can sleep in here and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Molly, don’t be ridiculous. You are very small; there is more than enough room for the two of us in this bed.”

Molly bit her lip as Sherlock laid down, closing his eyes. She stood there contemplating. _Of course_ he did not find it awkward, but she did.

“Well?” he said.

She finally climbed into the bed and nestled herself in, trying to get comfortable, but making sure to keep a great distance between her and Sherlock.

After a minute or two in silence Sherlock spoke;“Molly?” he groaned.

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“You forgot to turn off the light.”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a small laugh. “Go to sleep, Sherlock,” she said, standing up from the bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Molly awoke the next morning with her nose nudged up against his shoulder. She didn’t realize the closeness at first, as she was inhaling his scent, sighing softly before opening her eyes.

She froze perfectly still, eyes wide as she looked at Sherlock’s face. He was lying on his back, still sleeping soundly; he still looked exhausted, the circles were still dark under his eyes.

Quickly and quietly, she slipped out of bed, walking out of the room and into the kitchen.

She decided she was going to make him some breakfast; who knows how long it’s been since he’s eaten something considering how long he had been without sleep. She bit her lip nervously; she knew that these were things that he normally did when he was on a case, but this was different, and this was worse than before. She felt bad; she really wished that there was more that she could do for him, but it’s not like she really had any skills when it came to tracking down consulting criminals. She could help if they were back in London though. She thought this over and it really made her miss her lab. Sure, it was nice to have a small break from work, but not for these reasons; it wasn’t like she was actually on holiday with Sherlock. She was posing, as his lover, and it was fake; great, more lies to hold on to.

Her phone vibrated on the table as she was covering Sherlock’s food to keep it warm.  She picked it up and looked at it, sighing heavily before she answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Molly…” she heard the familiar voice ask. “How are you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, is- is everything okay with you?” she asked, starting to pace back and forth.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… I wasn’t sure if you weren’t feeling well maybe? Lestrade said he hadn’t seen you around Bart’s in a few weeks and so I went there to see if you were alright and they said that you would be gone for an undisclosed amount of time? Is something going on?”

Molly became nervous, frantic, trying to find an answer. The cover her and Sherlock had been using worked on people they didn’t know, but this was John Watson they were talking about. “I-well, one of my relatives, on my father’s side… they’ve been ill, and so I offered to come up here to Scotland to take care of her.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Molly,” John accepted right away and Molly let out a quiet breath in relief, slowing her pacing. “Is there anything, that I- well, that me or Mary- could do for you? She’s worried too; she said you both hadn’t spoken very much lately.”

“Oh no, no, there’s nothing anyone can do at the moment. We’ve seen slight improvement, but we’re not sure how long it will be before my aunt is better.”

“Well, I wish your aunt well, and you know- don’t hesitate to ask us if you need anything.”

“Thank you, John, the both of you, let Mary know how grateful I am. I appreciate it.”

“Well, Molls, it’s not like you’ve had it very easy over the last several months. You know with everything, with him- how are you doing with all of that business?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine; it’s getting a lot easier as time goes on.” The guilt had struck her for the first time in a while, not since she had spoken with John last, and it caused her eyes to glass over. She was now in the same flat as Sherlock, she had been for a few weeks now, and she _still_ couldn’t tell him a thing.

* * *

 

Sherlock woke up to find the other side of the bed empty, he stretched as he heard Molly saying bye to someone; she must have been on the phone. He stood up, rubbing his eyes as he walked out of the bedroom.

Molly was sitting at the table, staring down at her tea, lost in thought. She had his breakfast laid out on the table for him as he sat down in the chair next to her.

“How long since you’ve eaten?” she asked, sounding concerned, but not moving her eyes from her tea.

“Four days,” he said, and saw her wincing. When she opened her eyes back up he saw them glossed over and became confused.

He leaned over to her, lifting her chin up with his thumb and forefinger so she had to look at him. “Who were you on the phone with?”

“John,” she said, trying to look away, but he still gently held her chin there.

“I see,” he replied, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “He is fine.”

“Yes,” she said, but her eyes got wider as tears were still streaming down her cheek. “But I feel bad; he has been better lately, but he still misses you; dreadfully. He feels bad for me so he won’t say that, but I can hear it in his voice. I have been in the same flat as you for weeks, not to mention I helped you fake your death, and I can’t tell him anything…” Molly was getting lost in her thoughts, finally being able to say everything that she wanted to say, and saying more than she really meant to let out. Sherlock held her gaze and listened to her intently since it seemed to be helping.

“Yet, he has been worried about me and how I was feeling while you were gone, which I really didn’t deserve. Though, when you _were_ gone, when you didn’t tell me where you were going, it felt like you had died on me too. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again. And I’m here with you now, helping, which is the best place I could be because I more than anything want _James,”_ she hissed venomously, “and his filthy network to pay for everything that you did. But it still hurts, to lie to him. I have the privilege of knowing your safe, when your best friend still believes that you are dead, and not coming back.”

She finally let out a breath as Sherlock released her chin but still kept his eyes intent on her. She slowly brought her hand up and cupped it over her mouth, realizing everything that she had said; she was worried that she made him feel guilty, which was the last thing he needed.

She shook her head, “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I didn’t mean to ramble on like that, I just-”

“Molly,” he said, as she waited for some snotty remark, but his eyes softened. “It is fine.”

“But I didn’t mean to say all of those things; you have a lot to worry about.”

Sherlock continued to look at her “it _is_ fine,” he said, looking down at his food as he began to eat. Molly sat her in chair silently, cradling her hands around her warm tea cup. It was nice to have finally vented, but she was still feeling a bit uncomfortable; she felt she had spoken more words to Sherlock in that monologue than she ever had.

After a few silent moments she heard Sherlock let out a low chuckle and she looked at him; he was smirking. “Filthy network?”

They were growing closer, whether Molly saw it or not. Every so often, his stern façade would fade and his eyes softened for her, but Molly didn’t believe in herself; it was much easier for her to render him incapable of returning feelings so that she wouldn’t have to feel hurt later.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock awoke the next morning with his familiar friend sleeping next to him again. He had convinced her that since they had already slept in the same bed (which to his previous argument, there was in fact plenty of room for the two of them), and since the bed was more comfortable than the sofa, that the most logical thing would be for them to continue sharing a bed.

He lay perfectly still and observed her, his face so close that his nose almost nudged the top of her head; when she had fallen asleep the previous night, she had made sure that she was as far away from Sherlock as possible, practically falling off of the bed. But just as the morning before, she woke up close to him. This time her head was resting on his chest along with her hand resting there. She was sleeping peacefully; quiet as can be, for once not looking so sad, and he found it… _relieving?_

Sherlock felt a bit strange; this was never a position he had found himself in before, but he did not find it unpleasant at all. He continued to watch her sleep and found it was the first time in a while where he felt at rest; he was relaxed, and his mind wasn’t racing, which very rarely happened. But it was a moment of content as he watched her there.

It was not long before Molly finally started stirring; she took her hand that was resting upon his chest and rubbed her eyes, finally opening them. She was still, trying to determine if she was in the position that it seemed to look. She slowly turned her head up to look at Sherlock’s face, hoping he was still asleep. Instead she found those blue pools just looking down at her and her eyes widened.

For some reason though, she didn’t move; she couldn’t figure out why he had not pushed her off of him yet and her brows furrowed.

“Problem?” he asked, his voice smooth like velvet, as soon as he saw the look of confusion on her face. She felt paralyzed; their faces were so close together and she found redirecting her eyes towards his lips.

Her hand was still resting on Sherlock’s chest and although she couldn’t manage to turn her head, she felt him pick up her hand and press two fingers to wrist.

He was toying with her, he was deducing. Her pulse was racing as he kept his eyes intent on her. “ _Fascinating_ ,” he breathed low and quiet.

 “Uhm, no, I’m uh, I’m sorry; I don’t really know how I ended up here…” she said, finally answering his question and slipped her head off of him as she stood up.

Normally Sherlock found her stuttering and nervousness to be a pain, for some reason he was amused by her coy embarrassment, and she saw him crack a smile.

Now she was even more confused and her cheeks turned a very bright scarlet, “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, grabbing her things and scurrying to the bathroom.

* * *

 

Molly felt like a schoolgirl, she was being so shy about what had happened earlier, but she never thought that Sherlock would break past that comfort zone that deeply. Of course, she wanted him to, she wanted that more than anything, but she never actually thought that would happen; she thought it was ultimately beyond her reach.

She was wondering what would have happened if she had stayed there and not moved out of shyness. Would they have kissed? No, that was preposterous, why on earth Sherlock Holmes, brilliant consulting detective, would find interest in the dull, mousy pathologist that had trouble speaking to him without stuttering at the worst of times. She tried to shake the thought off, but she was daydreaming about his lips capturing hers. “Molly,” she said to herself in that familiar Sherlock tone.

When her hair was dry she walked out of the bathroom. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, fixing the cufflinks of his shirt and it was taking a lot for her not to stare. It her favourite shirt, the purple shirt, that almost clung too tightly to his body. Not only this, but she had to stop herself from groaning when she saw his usually perfectly neat curls still ruffled into a tossled, dark mess. A flow of blood flushed her cheeks as she bit down hard on her lip; she definitely needed some air.

“Any word from Irene?” she asked, as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She had no intentions of mentioning this morning’s moment between them, she would probably have just made a fool of herself anyway.

“No,” he said, huffing, planting himself down on the sofa and steepling his hands over his lips as he closed his eyes.

“I was uhm, thinking about going out for a bit,” she said.

“For?” he said, looking to his notes, seeming a bit uninterested in the reason, but asking anyways.

“We’re, running a bit low on food and I also wanted to look at the shops again that we looked at before.”

There was no answer from him, just a slight nod.

Molly grabbed her coat and slipped out the door.

* * *

 

Molly was walking along the street, admiring the shops that she hadn’t gotten a chance to really look at before when she was here with him. She was also enjoying the free time to just let herself not worry about anything serious. She didn’t think about Sherlock, or the network, or the name. She was having a good time looking around even though she didn’t really buy much, until she got to one store.

It was the jewelry store. She felt a little pathetic buying herself jewelry, but she hadn’t been able to get anything for so long. She splurged and bought the pearl bracelet she had been staring at the first time they went around looking. She put it on before she had even left the store, admiring its beauty. She was constantly letting it catch her eye as she went around looking, proud of her purchase; it was beautiful.

When she was done with her shopping she decided that she was going to keep walking around and still enjoy the fresh air. She knew she should be back soon though; someone was going to have to force Sherlock to eat, because he was probably too distracted in his mind palace to even think about that.

Something didn’t feel right now though, almost like she felt she was being watched. She wrapped her unbuttoned coat tighter around her as she walked along, a bit more quickly now, but was pulled off of the sidewalk into the slim alley.

A hand covered her mouth to stifle any screaming as he pushed her up against the wall. She was franticly trying to fight back, but her back was facing him, her chest pressed up against the wall. A moment later, she found her head meeting the brick wall she was pressed up against from a blow to the other side of her head. Her eyes rolled up as she fell on the ground, where she lay unconscious.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock had been laying there a while now, not having moved his spot since Molly was there with him. He was searching through the mind palace, trying to find the same answer he had gone looking for a million times. Hints of another name, of Moriarty’s second in command, though Sherlock knew Jim would never have been so careless as to let something that important slip.

As he hopelessly sorted through, he heard the door open and the sound of a woman sweep in. She had been happy, a smile on her face, but the smile quickly faded and was replaced with confusion as the woman looked around. He could tell by the footsteps that this was not Molly.

“Where is Dr. Hooper?” Irene asked, looking around. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked to her. This was the first time he saw her abandon her usual cool, collected self and was looking sincerely worried.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, he already knew what she was going to say.

“Moran. His name is Sebastian Moran and he has relocated all of his men from Ireland to _Scotland._ He started to sense something going on in Ireland, but I and your brother’s men got out of there without being seen.”

Within a moment, Sherlock was walking across the room, throwing on his coat and scarf as Irene followed him out the door.

* * *

 

Sherlock’s eyes were pierced with anger and guilt as he saw Molly laying there on the ground. Within seconds, he picked up her unconscious body in his arms and carried her into the cab. His mind was racing frantically as he began examining her for injuries. Her dress was ripped, although it was the top, and no sign of sexual assault, but there was a large bruise forming on her temple. She had taken a large blow to the head.

Irene said nothing. She knew there was nothing she could say to the infuriated detective, she just watched him. He moved the mess of hair covering Molly’s face as he cradled her close to his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

* * *

 

Molly woke up in her bed, her head pounding furiously the second her eyes opened.

She looked around to see pain medication on the end table next to the bed along with a glass of water and she remembered what had happened. She looked down to see she was still in her ripped dress, and she moved her hand up to touch the still forming bruise; it stung. A lump began to form in her throat as she was trying not to panic, but she kept getting flashes of being grabbed, of being shoved up against the wall, and the final feeling of her head crashing against the brick wall before she fell.

She pulled her legs up against her chest and started to cry, trying really hard not to, but she couldn’t help it, there was no control over this. She was still in shock and trying to take in what had happened.

Sherlock came in within moments of hearing noise from the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, wanting to help, but not sure what to do.

She was sobbing so hard, and it took all of his strength not to get angry, not to rampage and rip out Moran’s throat. This had to be him, but he needed to formulate a plan, find out more information before he could even get near him.

He had been sitting there for a while whilst Molly was still in the same position, her face in her hands as she continued to cry. He wasn’t sure that she had even noticed that he was there.

“Molly,” he finally said, touching her shoulder. But it had startled her, she flinched at his touch, and he immediately tried to calm her.

“No, Molly, it’s okay. It’s just- it’s only me. You’re okay.” She glanced at him and could see the concerned expression written all over his face, she nodded at him, relaxing a little. He kept his hands as his sides now, avoiding contact with her as to not scare her.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to stop crying, but it was a bit useless as she was still quite frightened. “How did you find me?” she asked, avoiding eye contact. It was embarrassing for her to lose herself like this in front of Sherlock.

“Miss Adler came to tell me about Moran and the network; they are all here in Scotland.”

“So… they were the ones that attacked me?”

“Yes. Molly, I’m so-”

She looked up into his eyes and shook her head. She didn’t want an apology from him; it wasn’t his fault. His eyes were so soft and apologetic as he looked at her. She hadn’t seen Sherlock look this- this emotional, this human- before, but she also didn’t want him blaming himself.

She was still so upset and so tired as Sherlock sat up further on the bed, closer to her. She gave in and let herself sink into his chest, silently letting tears run down her face as he laid down with her now. He pet her hair, trying to keep her calm and it seemed to be helping. It wasn’t long before Molly finally fell asleep against him.

* * *

 

Sherlock laid there all night awake, constantly waking Molly up from nightmares. He sighed, he had never felt this guilty before, and he didn’t know how to deal with this. He figured that helping her would be the best thing to do at the moment. He still had to wait for Irene to come back with more information on Moran’s networks relocation to Scotland before he could proceed.

He was not willing to leave Molly here by herself anyway. It was his fault for dragging her into this mess. The one person that had helped her the most in all of this, helped her protect his friends, and he failed to keep her safe. He sighed as he examined her face. It was not peaceful like it had been earlier that morning when she was laying in the same position on his chest. Her brows were furrowed; she was frowning, and getting very restless sleep. He took his thumb to smooth the tension between her brows. She didn’t stir, but her face became more relaxed, and her body a bit less tense.


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next week, Molly thought Sherlock would be stressed and focused on nothing but finding Moran, but he was at another standstill where all he could do was wait. It didn’t seem to torture him as much as it had before though. Molly found that instead Sherlock was spending much of his time close by her. Irene was able to keep up with all that was going on in Scotland, along with Mycroft’s men. He was worried more about her at the moment, she was still having nightmares, but during the day she was okay. Their relationship had completely shifted; Sherlock had made her more comfortable around him.

“NO! Get off of me!” Molly yelled out, tears streaming down her cheeks. She started to flail as the nightmares continued. They were getting lesser, but it hadn’t been long since the incident happened.

“Molly,” he said, shaking her a bit, trying to get her to calm. “Molly, it’s alright. Wake up.”

Molly woke up, relaxing as she looked up to see Sherlock above her, “you’re safe.”

He knew she was fine, but he didn’t move from his spot, waiting for her confirmation. His eyes looked worried; there was no logical way to deal with this. He wanted to find a solution to these nightmares so she didn’t have to deal with them, but it was out of his control; this frustrated him, but he did what he could.

“I’m alright,” she exhaled.

He stayed where he was, sitting on the bed next to her, but leaning above her as he stared into her eyes. His brows were furrowing now, and he looked frustrated. “I- don’t know how to solve this, Molly. I am at an impass.”

Molly misunderstood, not thinking her nightmare situation was important. She sat up, shaking her head, “Sherlock, what do you mean? You know now that it’s Moran, and Irene is working with Mycroft to clear enough of the network so that you can-”

Sherlock was shaking his head at her now. “That is something I _can_ solve, I know that… I mean _you_.”

“What?”

“Your nightmares; you have them because of this mess revolving around me. This isn’t something I can deduce and eliminate. Emotions do not have one logical solution…” he trailed off. This must be why he didn’t like them. Emotions had no definitive answer; they reached beyond the world of logic and were open to interpretation, always changing with each person. He was not fond of things capable of outsmarting him.

Molly found herself close up to Sherlock, cupping one side of his face. “Stop blaming yourself; you have better things to worry about, Sherlock,” she said, kissing his cheek. But when she pulled her head back, Sherlock was right there, face close to hers, practically sharing the same breath.

“It is the beginning symptoms of a psychological condition, Molly,” he replied.

“It is not important, though Moran and his network _are_ ,” she tried to assure him.

“Why do you always think that you do not count?” he asked quietly, confusion across his face.

Molly was finding it hard to concentrate with Sherlock’s mouth so close to hers, but she remained there. “Sherlock,” she began, hesitating for a moment. “When you came back after being gone for six months, I told you that you had never come to me about anything unless there was something you needed me to help with.” Her eyes remained intent on his.

She could feel a lump building in her throat again, but not because of the nightmares this time.

“And as far as I’ve seen, that still remains true. And that’s fine, I understand; you are married to your work. But I always think that I don’t count, because I _don’t._ ”

The lump continued rising in her throat, but she was fighting it.

“I’ve always asked you for things, because I trust you, as much as I trust John. And you do, Molly, you’ve _always_ counted. Feelings are not my area, but you are like a puzzle. You _fascinate_ me because you’re the only one that says unexpected things. I always think that I know what you’re going to say, but you become an enigma to me.”

Molly’s eyes glossed over as she took in what he was saying. Sherlock rested his thumb in the dip under her mouth, pulling her close to meet their lips. He pulled her onto his lap as he continued to kiss her. She giggled contentedly as he kissed her forehead, her nose, her jaw, but always went back to her lips, kissing with such intense passion as Molly threaded her fingers in his curls, losing herself in the moment she had been waiting so long for.

* * *

 

Molly had been calm through the rest of the night, not awaking from her nightmares. She woke up curled up against Sherlock, their fingers laced together. She smiled and just lay there on her side for a few minutes, admiring the detective at peace; it was the only time he was quiet. She kissed his forehead and was slipping out of bed when Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her back down, grinning with his eyes still closed.

She briefly brushed her lips against his, with all intents of pulling away quickly, but he pulled her into a more passionate kiss, one like they had the night before. She was finding it hard to pull away, her hand cupped his face again as she moved closer against him.

Molly smiled, finally getting out of bed and going into the kitchen to find Irene sitting on the sofa.  

“Molly Hooper,” she began, “did I not tell you?” She had the biggest smirk on her face; a quality that Miss Adler shared with Sherlock was her love for being right.

“How did you-?”

“I watched you for a moment before I came back in here.”

Molly felt her cheeks turn red as a big smile was spread from ear to ear, but then she turned to Irene. “But he knew you were there? He would have.”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t bother him?”

“No.”

Molly felt her cheeks turn red as she looked down to the floor but she found herself grinning ear to ear. “I’m glad you were right.”


	13. Chapter 13

Things were getting better, a bit easier as time went along. Molly and Sherlock were growing increasingly close, but Sherlock still had work to do.

Sherlock was out more now, he was working with Irene, but they had to have every detail planned out during the times that he went because Sherlock couldn’t be noticed; Moran would be on alert. Molly didn’t go out much as Sherlock was weary of her going out alone because of what happened before. It had taken a bit of convincing to leave her here by herself, but he had some of Mycroft’s men linger near their flat while he was away.

Molly found her head spinning; there was so much going on at the moment, but she had a lot of time to mill things over. It was tough, dealing with what had happened to her. It was worst on the nights where Sherlock hadn’t been home most of the night. The night was the best time for Sherlock to go out because it was easier to go around unnoticed. He spent most of the night away, but Molly always found him curled up next to her when she woke up in the morning. Certainly not sleeping much because of all of this new lead excitement, but he would lay there thinking, and was there to wake her from the occasional nightmares.

There was also these new extended boundaries she had with Sherlock; which was very slim compared to before. Sherlock was not a very touchy person usually, but he also had no sense of shyness or self-consciousness. Her being so shy, before she would avoid any physical contact with him as it would just cause more stuttering, but this was nearly impossible anymore; and Sherlock had noticed that she had rarely stammered lately.

And it wasn’t sex, it was all innocent contact, and they hadn’t really even gotten close to that point yet; Sherlock was busy with the case and she had no desire to embarrass herself by bringing up that sort of conversation.

Molly felt her cheeks flush as she entertained the idea of sex with Sherlock. He had been quite attentive to her. He kissed her frequently, actually embracing rather than pushing away the thought of sentiment. But that didn’t mean it didn’t scare her. What about when all of this was over, and he had better things to do? And when he was back at 221B with John, would he still only come to see her at Bart’s and disregard her until he needed nothing from her?

* * *

 

Sherlock walked in the door, hanging up his coat. Irene had been staying in the flat downstairs, so she had gone back there.

He turned and saw the mousy pathologist curled up in a ball on the sofa; one arm hanging off of the sofa, and her book on the floor. Molly loved her novels; she would always read until her eyes couldn’t stay open anymore.

He picked her up and carried her into his bedroom. The last time, which was the only time, that Sherlock had held her like this was when he found her in the alleyway after she had been assaulted. He didn’t like the memory, it made him furious.

She stirred a bit after he put her down gently on the bed and lay down next to her.

Her eyes were sleepy, she felt groggy, but gave a tired smile when she saw Sherlock, kissing his cheek.

A few moments passed and he thought that she had fallen back to sleep, he had his head on the pillow, his eyes closed as he was facing her but then he felt her lips graze as he froze a bit, not expecting the contact. She wrapped an arm around his neck as she continued to kiss him; he was more responsive now, kissing back as he cupped one side of her face.

His eyes went wide as she parted her mouth a bit, sliding her tongue in and caressing his bottom lip, giving it a small nip. This was not an innocent, tired kiss like he would normally get; she was hungry for him.

She didn’t even know what had sparked this confidence in her to do it- maybe it was from her entertaining the thought of sex earlier in the day that had got her going. It had been a long time since she’d been intimately close with anyone. She always had a few dates with boring men, but the acquaintance would never progress anywhere. It would never go farther than a peck on the lips and a disappointed Molly when they weren’t brilliant like the consulting detective that had always been lingering on her mind.

Molly was taking control for the first time, she climbed on top of him, straddling his lap as her mouth continued to explore his lips, his jaw, neck, collarbone; hungry to taste parts of Sherlock she thought she’d never had any opportunity to experience. He let out a low groan as she nipped at his neck; the sensation of her lips on his skin continued to tingle even after her mouth had abandoned the spot.

Sherlock had never experienced anything like this before. He experimented once, with a girl in uni that had been infatuated with him. Others would compare this girl to Molly if they had known her, but he didn’t relate them in any sense. The girl was far from intelligent, and no idea how to puzzle Sherlock, she was positively boring. Everything she had wanted to say was written on her face before it left her mouth. It annoyed Sherlock, and the need for her to be quiet was part of his idea of entertaining this matter. It had ended quickly and was a confirmation for Sherlock that these physical desires were simply meaningless and a waste of his time, but Molly was leaving him wanting more of her.

His fingers slightly tugged on her hair as he pulled her down closer against his body, his other hand clutching her waist as she moved her mouth lower to his collarbone, leaving his breath ragged. His mind was calm, only focused on the situation in front of him, so he embraced it.

Molly found her way back to his lips, biting him again as she pressed her body closer. She finally pulled her mouth away, boring into his blue eyes. He held her gaze, raising his fingers to her pulse just under her jaw, examining her fiercely dilated eyes as her heart pounded out of her chest.

Her dilated eyes shifted into a concerned expression, her brows furrowing as she saw the dark circles resting under his eyes.

He shifted over to his side, bringing her down to hers as she let out a squeal, as he innocently grazed his lips across her neck, causing her to let out the gentlest of whimpers.

“Sherlock?” she asked, trying to keep the focus on the question at hand.

“Hmm?” he replied, his lips barely leaving her skin as he continued to give her jaw more attention.

“How long since you’ve slept?” she asked, sounding concerned as he pulled away to look at her again, the pout returning to her face.

He took his thumb and rubbed between her brows, smoothing the hard line as he quietly replied to her. “It is irrelevant.”

“Sherlock,” she whined, still waiting for an answer.

“Four days,” he said, sighing.

Her mouth began to gently work along his jaw as she whispered between kisses “you need to get some rest.”

She gave him one more kiss on his lips as she pulled away and tucked her head under his chin. She was drawing shapes on his chest over his shirt, the movements getting slower by the minute as she was drifting off to sleep, Sherlock along with her.


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock had gone out himself that day with Mycroft’s men, leaving Irene with Molly. For most of the day they had remained mostly quiet, with the two of them attending to their own matters. Irene was spending a lot of time on the phone, trying to sort out connections. They were getting really close to finding Moran; most of the network had been tainted- either killed, detained, or threatened into silence.

Molly spent the most of the day doing miscellaneous things to keep herself busy, she was antsy from a ring she had received from John, asking her how she was doing. She tidied up the flat, took a shower, had about five cups of caffeinated tea, and now she was pacing. She couldn’t clear her head…

Molly was happy with everything going on with Sherlock; it was definitely different, nothing she had ever expected to happen. Yet something was still nagging her, that had been nagging her all along… she had no idea what would come when she returned to London, returned to her job that she missed dearly. She sincerely feared that it would just go back to how it was…

She hadn’t even noticed Irene sitting in the chair until she spoke up. “I would worry too.”

As if Sherlock wasn’t bad enough with his deducing, Irene was pretty good at it too.

Molly bit her lip, stopping her pacing as she looked at Irene, not sure what to say. “You complement him, Dr. Hooper. You give him a reason to put his mind at rest when he wants it to, yet he likes the unintentional challenge you give him with emotions. But this is not his regular setting, and you do not have John Watson to compete with currently.”

Molly walked over to the sofa and sat down. “I know,” she said, “I’ve been worrying about this since I noticed a change in him- towards me, I mean. I know he misses John, he just won’t admit it; he doesn’t even mention him because it’s easy to avoid it.”

“He justifies it with saying that he did the right thing, but you don’t have to know how to deduce to know that Sherlock does like his routine. He wants more than anything to tear down Moran’s network, and then return to 221B with his blogger.”

Molly did not even pretend to deny that she agreed with her. “I want to believe he will want me there, but I just- I just don’t think so.”

“This is _convenient_ for him,” Irene replied. “And he still does feel guilty for hurting you, which is new for Sherlock, and may say that something is different about him, but it still may not be so convenient when his life is back to normal and he is not so vulnerable anymore.”

Irene finally stood up, seeming a little less interested now. “Sherlock _would_ be ashamed of us though, Molly, going on assuming like gossiping girls without the proper evidence.” Her back had been turned, and she was expecting a response from Molly, but she was silent; there was no answer.

As Irene turned to her she saw Molly standing, her mouth agape as she stared at the paper in her shaking hands.

Molly’s eyes locked on the three letters she read over and over, everything finally clicking. “Mental note,” she breathed.

“Dr. Hooper?” Irene asked quizzically.

How could Molly have forgotten this? She didn’t know what it meant at the time, but everything made sense now. “I was wearing this sweater,” Molly began, voice shaky as she continued. “When I was attacked, and this must have been put in my pocket.  Sherlock disappeared after his funeral and I had a body in the morgue with an I.O.U tattoo on the man’s chest; the man looked like him- not his face, but he had dark, curly hair and was tall. I’m so thoughtless,” Molly said, clearly frustrated, her hands were balled into fists into her sides. “Moran has known this whole time that Sherlock was alive,” she choked.

Before Irene could answer her, Sherlock came into the door, looking more satisfied as usual. Irene and Molly shot a glance to each other before Molly slipped the note back into her pocket and sat down. “Hey,” she said, trying to calm herself, sound happy; she smiled at him. If Sherlock sensed any tension he would know something was wrong. She wasn’t sure how she was going to go about telling him.

Sherlock walked over and lay down on the sofa, putting his head in Molly’s lap. He closed his eyes, evidently sinking into a part of his mind to recall the information presented to him while he was out. They sat there silent, as Molly kept worriedly exchanging glances with Irene.

_How could she bring this up?_

“You’re fidgeting,” he acknowledged, remaining in his spot, an observation to hint to her to stop moving.

She moved her hands through his hair, trying to figure out how to start the conversation.

She reached into her pocket, “Sherlock… I found this from when-”

Sherlock didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move. “I know,” he said, “I found it when we found you in the alleyway and brought you back here,” he said, not seeming worried.

She shook her head a bit, not necessarily all that surprised that he already knew, but he didn’t know about the morgue, and she felt that it was important. “But Sherlock, there’s something-”

“Molly, he knows I’m alive, there’s not much that I can do about that. And yes, your safety has been compromised, but Mycroft’s men are working on that,” he seemed to swat the problem away like he had already taken care of it.

Molly huffed, gently lifting Sherlock’s head so that he was sitting. “Sherlock, _please_ just listen to me,” she pleaded.

He sighed, rolling his eyes but entertained the idea, nodding at her, giving her his attention.

“After you disappeared, there was a body, and it had a tattoo… and well-” she said, standing and beginning to pace, “he looked like you, and the tattoo on his chest read the letters I.O.U.”

For a second, Molly thought she saw a pained expression on his face, but it fleeted as soon as it had come; he said nothing. “And, at the time, I didn’t know where it was from, I couldn’t remember it’s importance. I had heard it somewhere; it was from you… ‘mental note’ was all that you said,” she said, wishing Sherlock would say something, interrupt her. This had been a time when she wished he had known this part too. She would have told him earlier if she thought it was related to all of this.

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with anger, he stared at the ground, refusing to look at Molly. This entire time, he has been in hiding in the darkness, and it was all for nothing. Moran knew, he always knew; this could have been dealt with so long ago, it infuriated him. She could have been in danger this whole time, since Moran had realized her importance. But most of all, the hiding, the lying, all for the sake of his friends, he was trying to save people’s lives, and it was all wasted time. An overwhelming sense of embarrassment washed over him; he had been beaten, for six months he thought he was winning, doing things in the right measure, but none of that mattered anymore.

Sherlock was going to deal with his anger the way he was accustomed to: blaming it on others. He knew that it wasn’t her fault, but he was furious.

He looked up to Molly, eyes cold like ice; he’d never looked at her this way before.

“You waited seven months to mention something that happened when I left London?”

“I-” Molly started, becoming increasingly nervous. “I didn’t know what it meant at the time- you never explained-”

“How clear three simple letters should be; I’m disappointed, Molly, I thought you were more intelligent,” he sneered. “I expect too much from people of ordinary intelligence.”

Molly stood there frozen; she didn’t know what to say, she was feeling so guilty, but it _wasn’t_ her fault. She had felt so much guilt, and this was becoming tiring. She stared down at the floor, quiet, wringing her hands together.

Sherlock walked over to the window and stared out, crossing his arms; he did not turn to her as he spoke.

“If you are concerned about your safety, you can remain here,” his eyes narrowed as he continued, gazing out the window. “But John is on his way here and your assistance is no longer _needed_ here, Dr. Hooper.”

She stood dumbfounded; he was telling her to leave. After everything she had done for him, and everything she had worried about was spilling over, and they weren’t ever back in London yet.

There would be no more tears shed in Sherlock’s presence. _No,_ she thought, _it isn’t worth it._

She said nothing in response to him; she turned calmly and walked into the bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

Sherlock continued to glare out the window, ignoring the woman still sitting who had been watching the conversation exchanged between the two. It was as if she had not been in the room with him, but she finally stood.

“I warned her,” she said, as Sherlock darted a narrowed glance at her, glaring with the most hateful eyes. She continued though, “that once your blogger returned, she may not be convenient for you.”

Sherlock let out a huff, “it is not a matter of convenience,” he said, returning his gaze out the window. “It is reliance of others who are not intelligent enough to handle the matters at hand,” he snickered.

Irene got up close to him, staring straight into his face as she spoke, but he didn’t move. “I think you are placing stupidity in the wrong eyes, Mr. Holmes.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “How is it that a man so intelligent destroys every relationship placed into his hands?”


	15. Chapter 15

“You bastard,” John yelled, “you bloody bastard!” The words broke the cold silence in the flat, followed by a fist meeting the side of Sherlock’s face.

John could not help it though, after a moment of Sherlock lying on the ground, he offered a hand to him to help him up, still looking angry as ever.

“You should have seen him two hours ago when he demanded I tell him why he was going to Scotland,” Mycroft said, letting out a small smirk of amusement at John’s fuming.

They exchanged a small hug, but Sherlock remained pensive. Molly had left, not saying a word to him, but a small goodbye to Irene. She had seemed fine though; there were no tears that he was expecting, he was not assaulted like others seemed to do, she did not even tell him to piss off. She simply disregarded him, and that almost felt worse.

Aside from Molly, it was nice, to be able to see John, to not have to hide from him anymore. They could go back to 221B once this mess was over.

* * *

 

Molly wiped the few tears she felt slip down her cheeks as she stared out the window of the train. _Wonderful, Molly, how could you be so stupid? You knew to expect that from him. It’s_ always _been when he needed something; never anything else._ She had to convince herself that his closeness with her was a vulnerable moment, that it meant nothing. She would tell herself this over and over, and hopefully she would one day believe it.

 _I’ll go back to work, to my wonderful, wonderful morgue and continue with my work. I’ll get ahead; catch up on all the things I missed._ She decided the first thing she was going to do was write another academic journal article. It would get her brain churning; get her back into the swing of things. It would be nice to be there; the bodies at the morgue would listen to her silently, peacefully, not responding, not judging her, and it always helped her find a dark sort of solace.

Though there was something she still let herself feel bad about; John. John was going to find out that Molly knew about Sherlock, that she helped him, and kept everything from him. She pulled out her phone, sighing.

_I’m sorry- that I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to, I wish I could have. –Molly H._

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

_I understand. It’s alright, Molls.  –JW_

John didn’t know much though, only that Molly had helped Sherlock fake his death, and that she was not in Scotland to take care of a sick aunt, but to help Sherlock, as her loyal personality always persuaded her to do.

She was almost positive she would have felt better about it if he was furious with her.  She clicked out the screen and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

The train finally came to a halt and she hopped in a cab, on her way home to the flat that she missed so dearly. She couldn’t wait to be back in her bed- a small something to look forward to. She gave a small smile, trying to push out the things that milled her brain over throughout the whole train ride.

When she finally stepped in, giving a sigh of relief, but it was also a sigh of sadness. It was all unreal to her; she still didn’t want to think about it. All she knew was that she had cried so much, and she just wanted to be a stronger Molly. He hurt her immensely, different than he had before. He had gotten so close to her, and then shoved her away. Why did he bother at all?

She inhaled, taking in the familiar aroma she had been away from, and all she could think about was her bed.

As she rounded the corner, she felt a pain, the same sort of blow to the head she had received in Scotland as she again, fell to the floor.

* * *

 

A few hours had passed, with Sherlock silent for most of it, trying to figure out the next plan of action, and trying to push Molly out of his mind palace, but she had tainted almost every corner of it. He felt the pang of guilt, of regret. Everything that had been said, had been done up until this point had a rhyme or reason behind it; all justified by logic, it had been the right thing to do in his mind. He was almost unfamiliar with regret, but he thought of Molly, and it only made him more frustrated.

“Sherlock?”

He looked over to John. John was still wrapping his head around Sherlock- not being dead. He had tried so hard to convince himself to let go months ago. Mary had taken away some of the pain, but Sherlock always lingered everywhere with him. He had saved him, from boredom, from his PTSD; he had so much to thank him for… when he wasn’t being an arrogant git.

Sherlock looked over to him.

“Does anyone know that you’re here? Have you received anything in the post before now…?”

Sherlock stood up, grabbing the letter from Sherlock’s hand and looking at the blank envelope. He tore it open, pulling out the note. A simple sentence filled the paper: _She must miss you already._

At the top of the letter was scribbled a return address; _Molly’s address._

“We need to go back to London,” Sherlock finally said, throwing on his coat.

John complied like his usual self, following along Sherlock, but was still perplexed. “What? But I’ve just gotten here? I thought Moran was-”

“He was,” Sherlock’s eyes were wild, “but he’s at Molly’s now.”

“Jesus Sherlock, why did she even leave?”

“Because I told her to.”

 Sherlock had made a mistake. He knew, he _knew_ that she would be unsafe leaving, but he let her anyway. And he hadn’t planned for this; stupidly, he was blinder than he had ever been. This should have been obvious; every single piece of contact Moran had made with Sherlock after his death was through her. 


	16. Chapter 16

Normally, John had no issue sitting in silence with Sherlock Holmes, but this was quite an uncomfortable situation. They were both sitting, worrying; Sherlock was pissed that Mycroft could not “borrow” a plane to get them home sooner, but all flights out of Glasgow had been cancelled until further notice; one of the planes had been lit on fire, surely not by any coincidence. 

Sherlock was fidgeting, and he couldn’t stop. His fingers continuously tapped against the armrest as he kept looking out the window.

“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock blurted, glaring out the window, refusing to look at anyone. “She’s going to be dead before we get there,” he said hopelessly, his eyes narrowing.

“Sherlock,” John began, “she texted me only about an hour ago, and she was fine.”

Sherlock scoffed, “that was an hour ago.”

“Look, Sherlock, Moran wants you; he wouldn’t kill her, because he’d never get to you that way. He’s using her as bait. We’re all worried about Molly too, and it would be best if you didn’t, well, make it worse for us all,” John said, dragging a hand down his face.

“Text her again.”

_Everything alright, Molly? Did you get home okay? –JW_

_We’re wonderful._

Sherlock’s jaw locked and he steepled his hands against his mouth and closed his eyes, laying back into the seat; he was going to burst. He would have given anything to have a free for all with nicotine patches. His mind was going faster than it normally did, which made his head pound. He couldn’t do anything; he was free to be out in the open now, not worrying about having to hide, and he was stuck in this damned train while God knows what was happening to Molly. And it was him that let her leave.

“John, I made a mistake,” he said, breathing hard.

“Excuse me?” John said incredulously. “What did you just say?”

“I told her to go. I hurt her, on purpose. It was my mistake, and I blamed her for it.” Not a moment later this was followed by Sherlock staring down at his trembling hands. “And there goes my body betraying me again.”

“Sherlock, what have I missed?”

* * *

 

Molly stirred with a pungent smell against her nose, her nose scrunched and then her face gained a horrified expression when she saw him; it must have been Moran. He had a gun pressed into her chest, right where her heart was.

Molly heaved in deep breaths, trying to remain as calm as she could, her eyes were paralysingly set on the cold metal pressed to her chest.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Molly Hooper,” he said, pulling the gun away from her, a dark smirk across his face, “it’s not time yet. Your boyfriend needs to get here, first.”

She didn’t even bother to fight the word; she remained quiet, hoping that was her best option right now.

Her hands were tied together behind the chair. She tried to see if her small hands had any room to squeeze out, but the rope burned against her skin as her wrists attempted. It was taking all of her sanity to not break down into a panic attack.

“We need to have a little chat,” Moran began, “about James.”

She looked him in the eyes, this was her chance to be brave, and she was not going to be her mousy self; she would not let her last moments be like that.

“How is it that a little slut could cause so much trouble?”

Molly’s jaw ground together, “I’ve done nothing,” she said, a look of disgust on her face.

“Really now?” he began. “Because if it weren’t for you, I don’t think any of us would be in this mess, would we now?” he said, gently caressing the edge of the gun down her cheek, pushing a piece of her matted hair out of the way with it. “You had to date the first man to pay attention to you; _you_ gave him the opportunity to get close to Sherlock Holmes.”

“Jim would have done what he wanted!” she yelled, “none of this has _ever_ been about me,” she replied, fighting against the rope that bound her, just wanting to break free.  

“You little liar,” he said, rolling his eyes and then sighing dramatically. “You’ve gotten inside the mind of Sherlock Holmes; you’re serving your purpose. Though, yet again, another failed attempted of finding your way into another man’s pants. It’s sad, really. Sherlock Holmes may always be a virgin after you’re gone.” He leaned in, his lips almost touching her ear as he whispered to her now; she could feel the upward curve of his devious smile. “I think you would have had a better chance if you had tried opening your legs for Dr. Watson instead.”

Molly threw her leg up, kicking the man hard in the stomach, and it caught him off guard. He lost his balance, falling backward as he hit his head against the counter. 

He reacted immediately, standing up, “Bitch!” he said, slapping her hard across the face, a cut from the impact of her teeth clenching the inside of her cheek- her mouth tasted of blood.

This went on for a while, and it was not long before Molly found that her face, her neck, her arms, were all forming with bruises, blood trickling down her head from too many blows to one spot, cuts forming. Her body was so sore, and she was a mess.

“I think James would have liked you better like this,” he said, taking in how she looked, grinning, “He preferred things to be bloody and violent, so long as it was not his hands getting dirty.”

“So has this all been a game, since he jumped?” she asked flatly, finally speaking up.

“Oh, _now_ we are interested? Things will be a lot less painful if you would just comply. This is what James has always wanted; a game, he loves to see the man squirm, and I am sure that he can’t stop right now. His heart needed some more burning; it seems you had found a bit left in him that had remained untainted.”

“I mean, I had no intentions of involving you, but you involved yourself, Molly Hooper. You made this game much more fun, and I hope you know my sincere gratitude for your contributions.”

He began walking in circles around Molly. “But you certainly couldn’t think a man like that could love you? That’s the problem with us, Molly; we’re always chasing after the men that we can’t have. Except, I could have retained my relationship with James, but Sherlock just had to complicate it. And now, James is gone. I’m not so sure that it is fair if we don’t at least even the field?” he said, stopping in front of her and placing the gun against her temple.

He pulled the top back, aiming it steady at her head. “Tell me, Dr. Hooper,” he started, “do you always go after the men who like to use you and then toss you aside? Because I think we’ve found something in common.”

Molly closed her eyes, there was nothing that could be done, and if they even knew she was in danger, they were not going to make it in time.

The door burst open and a shot was fired, a body slumping to the ground.


	17. Chapter 17

Molly’s eyes opened wide, realizing she felt no pain, no end. She was still in-tact, minus some cuts that needed stitching and her black and blue body.

She looked over to see John lowering the gun now; his impeccable aim had hit the middle of Moran’s head.

Sherlock was immediately over to her now, cutting the rope that bound her hands, and scooped her up as he had in the alleyway. He carried her gently against him, fleeing out of the building and towards the paramedics. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest and hear his ragged breathing as he was carrying her, but she remained still, she said nothing, and looked everywhere, anywhere but at Sherlock.

Just because this was a vulnerable moment didn’t mean anything; _John_ had saved her, and now everything was going to be over. She would go back to her lab, and things would go back to how they were; there was no sense in her trying to see it as something else.

He placed her down a few feet away from the ambulance. Sherlock moved his head closer to hers, about to place a desperate kiss to her lips, but she turned her head.

It only took a second for the light bulb to go off in his head and remember why she was acting this way. Instead, he placed a light kiss on her cheek, almost reminiscent of the one she had received last Christmas, and it _burned_ her skin, stinging her heart.

She immediately turned from him, about to walk over to the paramedics, when he grabbed her hand. “Molly,” he said, it almost sounded like he was pleading, but she knew it was just another vulnerable moment; maybe it was the feeling of guilt. She couldn’t though, if she looked at him she would break, and she promised herself there would be no more tears for Sherlock.

She turned her head so her profile was facing Sherlock as her eyes were squeezed shut; she was wincing.  She nodded, “thank you, Sherlock,” she choked out, immediately slipping her hand out of his as she walked over to the paramedics.

It was hitting her now, the shock had faded and she was feeling so weak. Her legs shook and the paramedics lowered her down so she could sit, beginning to examine the marks all over her.

* * *

 

She had returned to her job; everything was quiet, normal, nothing exciting, which she was more than okay with, but she felt empty. But god, she missed her morgue; she could have kissed the floor when she returned… well, if it hadn’t been constantly filled with dead bodies.

She had also started on her article; she took on extra hours, anything that could keep her mind focused, away from what she didn’t want to deal with. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, and it was making it easier, but every time those double doors would open her heart would drop in fear of who would walk through them.

John was talking to her more; he always seemed to be the go-to friend. He was helping, along with the wonderful Mary she had reacquainted with; though it made her miss Irene. Irene had been there, and although she spoke more on the factual side like Sherlock, she had helped her out a lot, and they had grown fond of each other. Molly sighed sadly as she finished up another autopsy.

* * *

 

Sherlock’s return had not been going as smoothly as Molly’s had. With the public, that was neither here nor there, he didn’t care much about what others thought of him, but he had terrible mood swings, and certainly refused to speak with any reporters.

He spent most of the time in “high spirits”, with constant nicotine patches attached to his arm as he picked up case after case. He was restricted though, as he tried to avoid cases where he could not use the basics of his own kitchen-lab; he wasn’t going to go to Bart’s. Molly didn’t want him anymore it seemed, so what more could there be said? He thought he was handling it well, distracting himself so he didn’t have to think about it. He was slowly trying to push her out of every room in his mind palace.

But when Sherlock spent more than a few hours without a new case, he hit his low, torturing everyone else around him. There was the occasional shooting the wall, upsetting Mrs. Hudson. When the gun was taken away from him, he would scrape the bow along his violin, making it screech. And then at other times he would spend lying on the sofa, perfectly still and silent.

John found that those few moments of silence were what he held on to for sanity, but he felt bad; he was trying to avoid the moving out conversation. He loved Mary, no doubt, and he promised her he would bring the subject up to Sherlock soon, but he was dreading it. Not to mention he finally was told of what happened between them while they were in Scotland, and figured this was why Sherlock was in this mood.

* * *

 

 

“Couldn’t you just come talk to him?” John pleaded. “I swear he will have all of Baker Street up in arms and then he’ll drag everyone down with him; you know how he gets.”

Molly shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. If he wanted to talk to me, he would come here himself. He has you now; I was already told that I’m _no longer needed_.” She felt the sting of his words as they left her mouth. She bit her lip now, “and it seems to prove true since he has been on all of these cases, yet I have not seen him back here at Bart’s once,” she said, trying to keep her voice flat, expressionless. It was just easier this way. “He does not want to see me, so it’s best he find another pathologist to work with.”

She kept her glance away from John and on her paperwork, but she wasn’t going to fool him. 


	18. Chapter 18

It had only been a few days since John had gone to Bart’s to talk to Molly. She tried removing herself from the situation; she couldn’t talk about Sherlock anymore, she would just remember how right she had been, and how hurt she felt. Though, this wasn’t going to stop John from trying to mend things between his friends.

“Sherlock, I think you should just go down there.”

“I’ve no reason to,” he replied, staring at his bow, getting ready to scrape it across his violin.

“Yes, you do, because Molly is there.”

“And? I don’t see your point, John.”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock, because you want to talk to her,” he said, flailing his arms in Sherlock’s direction. “She wants you to go talk to her.”

“She’s made it clear that she does not.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? You’re an idiot.”

Sherlock sighed, clearly bored. “This is not the first time you’ve told me this. Why now?”

“Because you care for her; _you_ are the one who broke her heart, and you’re still blaming her, as you did before. There’s a trend with this- you do need her; look at yourself, look at her, you’re both a mess. She’s just better at hiding it than you are, Sherlock.”

John huffed as he walked to the door. “Oh, and I’m moving out soon,” he said.

“I know,” Sherlock yelled back.

Sherlock couldn’t help but think of John’s words. Not that he would ever admit it to John, but he was probably right. He kept telling himself that the logical thing to do would be to avoid Bart’s. She couldn’t even look at him, and barely spoke to him the night she almost died, so why would that have changed now?

He hated feelings, hated emotions, and hated how un-separated he was from sentiment now; this was the reason, it was so unpredictable. It felt as though it was the one thing he could never be one step ahead of.

* * *

 

Molly was ready to go home already, and she still had three hours left of work. She was exhausted; she had been working 14 hour days for the last week. She was finishing up some paperwork when the doors opened slowly, and in strode the person she feared it would be. She didn’t even lift her eyes from her notes.

He stood a few feet from her, watching her, knowing that as hard as she tried to focus on her notes, she could not keep attention on them. “If you need something,” her voice started out hard, cold, but she was struggling to get out the right words, “the materials you normally use are in Dr. Stamford’s lab across the hall.”

He said nothing, but kept his eyes on her; he was adamant that he wanted her to make eye contact with him. When she realized that was he wasn’t going to move she sighed heavily, flipping through her papers. “Or, if you can’t be _inconvenienced_ to do that, what is it that you need?” she huffed.

“You,” he replied; his voice soft, almost innocent.

“No,” she replied immediately. “No, you’ve certainly made it clear that you don’t want me.” She could feel the words burning in her throat, but she kept telling herself to hold them back, because if she started to, she was going to explode. There was no way she was going to last if this conversation continued.

“Molly, I-”

She couldn’t handle some explanation from him. She was afraid she would forgive him so easily like she always has. “What- is it convenient for you again? Since John is moving out soon and now he won’t be around as much, I imagine it is just so tough for you, so you need me to fill in the blank. Because I would say yes to you in a heartbeat, because I _always_ have said yes to you, to anything you’ve asked, and it still wasn’t enough. You can’t just stuff me under the rug when you decide that _feelings”_ she said, making the word sound venomous, “are too much for you. But then again, that was probably a moment of vulnerability on your part. Why would anything ever change, Sherlock, why should I ever hope for anything different from you? You use me for what is needed and then you are gone until you need something else.”

She was starting to choke on her words, “well, Sherlock- it- is not going to be like this, because- I-I” she stopped, trying to compose herself, but it was useless. “I _cannot_ continue as it was, it’s too much for me. If that’s what you expect from me, then please, just leave me alone.”

Sherlock wanted to say to her what he felt, he knew that he _should_ , but he was afraid of letting out his feelings, he always has been. Change was something that he did not accustom to very well, and so he let the wrong words fall out his mouth.

“I am willing to forgive you for your mistake,” he stated, staring down at the floor, face pensive.  He had always known it was never her fault, so why did he let those words fall from his mouth?

“Get out of my lab,” her voice hoarse blurted out immediately upon him finished his sentence. She couldn’t understand her disbelief. This was Sherlock, this is what he did, yet she still always hoped something in him would realize that he was treating her like rubbish.

“Molly, you know that sentiment and feelings are not my area,” he said, starting to move towards her, but that explanation was not going to be good enough.

She stood her ground, but would not look up at him. “And that- is not my problem; not anymore.”

She tucked her papers inside of a folder, placing them in the drawer- she needed to get of there. He was taking his time, stalling so that he could stay, try to convince her, but she couldn’t deal with this. “You’ll need to find yourself another pathologist to help you, Sherlock, because I can’t do this.”

This was the first time where Molly had done most of the talking, and left Sherlock silent, kicking himself for saying everything completely wrong- _again_. Placing the blame on the wrong person; always to protect himself, shield himself away from feelings.

As she was walking out of the lab, there was one last thing that she had been holding back, and she couldn’t help but say it now; she feared it would be her last opportunity to do so.

Still facing the door, unable to look at him, she spoke, “you know why _you_ made a mistake Sherlock? Because you keep as much as possible to yourself, and refuse to share it with someone else; you can’t bear the thought of sharing your feelings with someone. It always has to be logical, and you’re so arrogant that you could never dream of insulting your own intelligence to say you were wrong about something. Maybe if you let people _in_ once in a while things would be different.”

She sounded so sad, so disappointed; he had broken her. 


	19. Chapter 19

Whenever they were finally able to walk away from a finished case, Sherlock would have a smile on his face, but not this time. Sherlock had been the most intolerable person to be around for the past few months.

John had moved himself and Mary into 221C Baker Street, and was helping Mary plan the wedding in any way she wanted him to. They were only there temporarily, but he hoped that by doing this, Sherlock wouldn’t be as lonely, even though he would never admit he felt that way. Though, John wasn’t sure anything would bring Sherlock out of this dreaded mood he’d been in.

John had met Mary not too long after Sherlock “died,” and Mary had been the person to help him through everything. Under all of that sadness John had to deal with, Mary made everything a little more clear to him; he had known since day one that he was going to marry her, and so the wedding was coming up soon.

As they got into the cab, Sherlock stared out the window, grueling in his constant negative mood; he didn’t seem excited at all to close up the big case they had just finished.

John sighed and opened his mouth, but Sherlock interrupted him first. “I’ll go.”

“What? But I haven’t even-”

“You picked up the rings this morning and you’ve been checking your pockets every five minutes ever since. Obviously this wedding has been on your mind all day… and you’re worried that I won’t go because it’s a pointless social event and because of my opinion on sentiment… But I will go.”

Anyone else would have thought Sherlock was a mind reader, but John had gotten used to this. He normally would have gotten mad at Sherlock calling his wedding a “pointless social event,” but he was surprised that Sherlock agreed so easily; he thought he would’ve had to pull teeth just to get him to entertain the idea, and so because of this he left it be.

They sat there for a few moments of silence, but John didn’t seem to be in the quiet mood. “So when are you going to go to Bart’s again?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he kept his head facing out the window of the cab, not in the mood for John to disrupt his thinking. “I don’t need to. I have enough things in my lab in the kitchen.”

“You won’t replace her,” John said, crossing his arms and smirking as he looked to Sherlock.

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal. “Dr. Hooper is one of the best in her field- unfortunately, the rest of the pathologists there have no idea what they are doing. I should not have to go to Bart’s to tell them how to do their jobs.”

“You miss Molly.”

“She told me she did not wish to work with me anymore, and to leave her alone.”

John’s satisfied smile faded as he looked skeptically at Sherlock. “What did you say to her?”

Sherlock’s eyes were closed now as his head was still facing the window; John saw how distressed he looked. “What does it matter now?”

John sighed, “you hurt her- again.”

“Yes, obviously,” Sherlock said, looking annoyed, but finally turning his head towards him as the cab was slowing.

“It’s funny though,” John began, “she didn’t say a word about it when I went to talk to her about the wedding. She didn’t hesitate to say that she was coming even though she knew you were going to be there.”

“Molly has never cared for her feelings more than others- even you should be able to deduce that. Even when I let her get hurt,” he said, clenching his fist, “she refused to let me take the blame for it; there was not one second that she would let me put her feelings first.”

“That is because she loves you, Sherlock. You need to try and talk to her again- and I know- that you don’t think it’s logical, because she has made it very obvious that she does not want you around, but I know that she misses you. If you had not been a git before and apologized properly, the two of you would be fine. You need to _tell her_ that you care.”

* * *

 

Molly was laughing as she sipped her wine, putting the glass down and began to brush Mary’s hair. “You are going to be so pretty tomorrow,” she said smiling. “John’s jaw is going to drop when he sees you come down the aisle, and it will be so lovely!”

Mary was spending the night at Molly’s flat; Mary and John’s wedding was in the morning, and Mary had needed some girl time with Molly the last night of her unwed life. “I sure do hope so,” Mary said, admiring the diamond engagement ring.

They were enjoying the night with small amounts of wine, laughing, and having a nice talk about John. They had been getting closer as Mary was trying to help Molly through all of the Sherlock muck, and Molly found it really nice to have Mary back in her life. The talk about John was fine until Molly found out much more than she needed to know.

“Oh, come on, Mary,” Molly said scrunching her nose, “I’ll never be able to look at him the same!” she said laughing as she shook her head at Mary.

The night had been going well there, but that also left Sherlock and John together, and it was not going to be long before John was ready to kill him.

Mary’s phone went off, and as Mary stared at the screen she was in awe, “oh god…”

“What- what is it?” Molly said immediately worried. “Is everything okay with John- and the wedding- is it-”

“Molly,” Mary stopped her, “jeez, you’re more nervous than I am! And no, everything is fine, but I need to go to Baker Street before John kills Sherlock.” As Mary said this she tried to hide a smile on her face.

Molly fidgeted in her seat a bit at the name. “Oh- oh, alright. But what about tradition, Mary? You’re not supposed to see him until you walk down the aisle.”

“Oh, whatever tradition! I love that man more than I’ve loved anyone, Molly,” she said, throwing on her coat. “And plus, the man most capable of causing a big mess before John Watson’s wedding will be here, and hopefully kept out of trouble. All I ask is the best man still looks presentable for the wedding, but I’ll forgive a black eye if it was necessary,” Mary said as the smile was clearly visible on her face now. She knew Molly wasn’t violent, but she had confidence that Sherlock would have a bit of talking to do before Molly was willing to forgive him. Though, Mary saw how much Molly loved him, and if Sherlock could clean up his apology skills, they would be at the wedding _together_ tomorrow.

“Sorry what?” Molly said, her eyes bulging from the sentence she thought she heard come out of Mary’s mouth, but hoped to God it was true. Had Mary and John set this up?


	20. Chapter 20

Molly’s pulse began racing as soon as Mary had walked out the door. Was Sherlock coming here? She hadn’t seen him in three months; remembering the last day she saw him made her wince. She began pacing as she dropped her head into her hands, groaning. This was not happening; she was doing so well without him being around- she was beginning to get her mind used to the thought of Sherlock never coming around. She would be lying to herself though, to say that she didn’t miss him, and it pained her to think about not seeing him again.

Her chest clenched as she heard a knock at the door. She walked up to look through the peep hole in her door, inhaling a sharp breath before pulling away from it. He looked- was it nervous?

She went over to the mirror and looked at herself, composing herself. “No crying, Molly,” she told herself.

She opened the door, and Sherlock came inside, neither of them saying anything yet. But as Molly closed the door, she turned around and he was right there, so close to her. She couldn’t help but look down- those blue pools would have made her cry, and she kept telling herself she wasn’t going to be the vulnerable one here. 

“Molly,” he began, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. Had _his_ hands been shaking? This was an odd switch, Molly thought.

“ _I_ have made more than one mistake, and I should have said that before; it wasn’t your fault. You were right, I didn’t tell you what it meant before, so there was no way you could have known. And everything that you’ve done for me, everything that I have put you through, I am eternally grateful for it, but I have mistreated you.”

She said nothing.

He sighed, continuing. “Irene was wrong, I did not say those things because John was in the loop again, I was… embarrassed,” The word sounded as if he had to force it out- Sherlock was definitely not good at admitting things like this, “by my own mistake- that it was right in front of me and I missed it.”

She was still quiet, letting him continue.

His voice was becoming more apologetic as he spoke, “And- I care for you, deeply; the moments I had with you, was not because I was in a vulnerable position.” He grabbed her hands as he continued, and she finally looked up at him. For the first time she saw _his_ eyes gloss over- she had most definitely never seen this side of Sherlock before. “You do though, Molly, you make me _feel_ vulnerable with you, and that is what frightens me. I have always divorced myself from feelings, but find that near impossible when I’m with you. I’m sorry that I have misused your loyalty, but believe me; I would do just as much for you if you simply _asked_.”

Tears started streaming down Molly’s cheeks as she was wordless. She brought one hand up to cup one side of his face, biting her lip, wanting the small distance between their lips to disappear.

Sherlock took his thumbs and wiped the tears from each cheek, and then leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” she finally said, “and- I don’t- you don’t have to say anything, I understand,” she said sincerely, “but I’ve wanted you to know for so long. I always have, Sherlock. I love you.”

Sherlock immediately gave Molly a gentle push against the wall, moving his lips against hers, and pressing himself close. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he cupped both sides of her face, giving her mouth the attention she had been longing for since his mouth last left hers back in Scotland.

Molly opened her mouth a bit, sliding her tongue in and caressing his bottom lip, making him groan. She giggled at his groan and pushed his jacket off, letting it fall the floor.  Sherlock could already feel her quickly working his buttons open and he grinned under their kiss, letting his hands slide down Molly’s sides and gripped her hips, pushing his waist a little harder against hers.

He took in her quiet moans with open mouthed kisses, moving his hands under her shirt and pushing it up to pull it off of her. Molly had finally slipped open all of his buttons and untucked his shirt, letting that fall to the floor along with his jacket.

Molly pushed off of the wall, gently pressing her hands against his chest, trying to guide him toward her bedroom, tripping a bit as they went. She refused to part her mouth from his and couldn’t see where they were going.

Sherlock let a low chuckle erupt from his throat as he finally picked her up in his arms, walking toward the bedroom. “Molly,” he breathed, placing kisses all over her as he made his way there; her forehead, her nose, but there was never a long moment they went without their lips being reunited.

He gently put her down on the bed on her back as he leaned over her. She cupped both sides of his face and pulled him down to her, giving him one long, passionate kiss on his lips, and then moving her attention to his jaw, trailing kisses down as she made her way to his neck and collarbone.

Her hands slid down so they were exploring the hard planes of his chest, to his arms, and then let one hand slip down as she grazed her hand over his pants, making him let out a hard huff against her neck, giving her shoulder a small nip.

Molly lifted her hips as he undid her pants, sliding them down, and her knickers with them, throwing them to the floor. He kissed all along her thighs, smirking as he could feel her tensing up, but then returned his mouth to hers.

She was undoing his pants as quick as she could, sliding them down with his boxers as he helped her remove them, kicking them off and to the floor.

He finally removed her bra, kissing down her chest, as he took one nipple in his mouth, gently biting down on it to hear Molly let out a louder moan than before, digging her nails into his shoulder. Her back arched a bit as he did the same thing with the other, and then kissing back up along her neck.

She wrapped one leg around his waist, eager for him now, and anxiously awaiting. He had himself pressed against her entrance, but would not enter her right away.

Her eyes went wide- they were more dilated than he had ever seen anyone’s. He caressed two fingers against her jaw as they moved below to her pulse, feeling her heartbeat continue with rapid fire and he smiled as he admired her responses. “Sherlock,” she breathed frantically with a pleading look in her eyes.

He pushed his full length into her as she wrapped both of her legs around him now, her hands moving up into his hair, gently tugging as he thrusted into her and finding a common rhythm. She bucked her hips harder against him with every thrust he put into her, moving deeper into her each time. Her moans and whimpers became loud against him with one hand fiercely gripping his hair and the other hand was laced with his, pressed against the bed.

He continued to move against her, whispering her name into her ear as his heart pounded out of control, eyes just as dilated as hers, burying his face in her neck now. He let out low grunts as she started to get so tight around him.

She let out one last moan as she reached her climax, with his release following her only a few thrusts later.

He rolled onto his side, pulling her onto her side with him, their bodies still pressed close together as they endlessly gave each other sleepy, innocent, and the most loving kisses. His hands were cupping her face again, not wanting to part his lips from her.

She kissed him back so softly, trying so hard not to let sleep take her; she didn’t want this night to end. She nudged her nose up against his cheek, staying there as she was struggling to open her eyes.

He pulled her close to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, Molly,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tight. 


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock pretended to be asleep to appease Molly, who was trying her best not to wake him. Molly had to go meet Mary to help her get ready, which required her to be up earlier than Sherlock. He had awoken the second she moved out of his arms, but he laid there still with his eyes closed.

She kissed him on the forehead. “I love you,” she whispered, placing a note on her pillow as she “snuck” out the door.

He opened his eyes, sitting up as he picked up the note.

_I’ll see you at the wedding! Remember to be kind to John, he’ll be nervous!_

_XO Molly_

* * *

“You look gorgeous, Mary!” Molly exclaimed, aweing over her dress. She had already seen it on her, but it was complete now, with her hair done up wonderfully, along with the beautiful, excited smile spread across Mary’s face, and everything even done with some time to spare.

After letting Molly gape over her dress, Mary turned to her. “If that grin stays on your face, Molly, you might as well just give the entire reception a heads up that you had sex with Sherlock Holmes,” said Mary, letting out a contented laugh.

Molly’s cheeks blushed scarlet, but the smile didn’t leave her face, “but! I didn’t even say-”

“You don’t have to, Molly, it’s clearly written on your face,” she said, shaking her head, still laughing.

“Mary! This is your day; we can always talk about this later.”

“I know it’s my day,” said Mary, reassuring her, “but that also means that I can tease you about having sex with Sherlock if I want to.”

Molly shook her head and laughed, the scarlet returning to her cheeks.

* * *

 

Molly stepped out the room to give Mary a few minutes, closing the door behind her.

As she walked down the hall, she felt an arm gently grab hers and pull her into an empty room. She turned around to find Sherlock smiling down at her as he pressed a swift kiss to her lips.

“Good morning,” she said sweetly, smiling at him.

He didn’t say anything but his hand moved down to her wrist. She began to roll her eyes, “Sherlock, my pulse is not-” but then she looked down and recognition clicked in her head.

“I hope you find that this matches your attire today,” he said.

She stared down at her wrist, a face of shock that quickly lead to a big smile. It was the same pearl bracelet she had bought in Scotland for herself, but she had lost it after she was attacked; at the time she assumed that they took it from her, and didn’t give it another thought. She loved it the second she had bought it; it had fit her wrist perfectly. “Sherlock- you… but-”

“When I found you, Molly, it was on the ground next to you, and I took it as evidence. But I knew it was yours because you were looking at it the first time we were out, talking to the university professor. The clasp was broken, so I kept it until we came back to London and I had it fixed. I didn’t have a chance to give it to until now.”

She saw a smile of pride across Sherlock’s face as he recognized that his choices were correct.

She pressed herself against him, backing up until his back was facing the wall. Standing on her tip toes, she moved her mouth against his, gently moving her hands along his chest and she pleaded for his innocent kisses.

She pressed her forehead to his, looking into his eyes as they talked, and him making her giggle; she hadn’t smiled this much in such a long time.

When her giggles subsided, Sherlock’s face became very serious as he stood there, examining her for a moment; his forehead still pressed against hers and staring into her eyes.

For a second she was questioning his look, but did not have much time to think about it as he moved so that it was no longer him pressed against the wall, but Molly. His kisses were hungry now, intense. She quietly inhaled a sharp breath as his eager lips moved to her neck, placing open mouthed kisses against her, biting her; there would surely be small marks.

Molly completely forgot where she was, sinking into the feeling of Sherlock’s lips exploring her. She tangled her hands into his hair, pushing her body closer against him and letting out a small whine.

As John walked by, his jaw practically fell to the floor, rubbing his eyes to make sure what he saw between Sherlock and Molly was real. The wonderful Ms. Morstan had told him so confidently last night that she knew they were going to make up, but John hadn’t pictured anything quite like _this_.

When John finally realized he had been gaping a bit too long, he closed his mouth and cleared his throat loudly.

Molly’s eyes went wide as her cheeks turned warm; she bit her lip as she looked down to smooth out her dress. Sherlock had pulled away, but one hand was still laced with hers as he looked to John.

John looked around, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with the both of them. “We need to get out there, soon,” he said, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Molly, I think Mary wants your help with something else before everything begins.”

“Oh, of course!” Molly squeaked, quickly leaving the two of them, a smile still lingered, but she still looked down awkwardly.

As Molly walked down the hall, John looked to Sherlock. “It looks like you finally said something right,” he said with a big smirk on his face.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, looking around a bit. “Thank you- for your advice before.”

John looked over to him questioningly, but gave him a sharp nod. “Well- you’re welcome.”

They walked down the hall, and then made their way towards the altar. Sherlock looked down to see John’s hands shaking.

“You will do fine, you know.”

John turned his head slowly to look at Sherlock. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you being so-”

“Nice?” Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes a bit.

“Yeah…”

“Molly reminded me that it is proper to be kind to a groom on his wedding day,” Sherlock said, “especially when they are one’s best friend.”

John smiled at him as he turned to stare down the aisle, awaiting the beautiful almost Mrs. Watson.


	22. Chapter 22

Molly stood on her tiptoes, trying to push the box onto the top shelf; she was too short to do it, but she refused to acknowledge it. She would spend forever trying to get the boxes up there if she had to.

She closed her eyes shut; trying to push it forward, but it was heavy. She was wincing in fear that the box would fall down on her. But as the box started to slip from her palm, she felt it become significantly lighter as it was placed on the shelf; she already knew who was behind her.

A hand was placed on her hip as he was pressed against her. His other hand moved the hair away that was covering her neck, nudging his nose and grazing his lips against the back of her neck, trailing small kisses as he worked his way closer to her jaw.

Molly had chills shooting up her spine as her body relaxed; she tilted her head to the side to give him better access to her neck as she reached her arm back, letting her fingers run deep into his curls as she let out a small whine.

Just before his mouth reached the spot just below her ear, he stopped; he knew it was a trigger for her. Sherlock loved studying her physical reactions when he found the sensitive spots on her body. As he stopped, he heard her inhale; she was impatiently waiting for him to continue the attention his lips were giving her.

“It is 5:45,” he whispered into her ear.

“Yes,” she said, relaxing the grip her hand had on his hair.

“Your shift ended at 5.”

It was not unlike her to stay late at work; it happened most of the time, really, especially when Sherlock was on a case. He was not on a case though, and John had been away; that was the problem.

She turned around to face him, pressing her body close against his again “You miss him,” she said, tracing shapes on his chest; she was letting the purple shirt distract her- her eyes glued to it.

“And you’re bored,” she added. She moved her mouth against his momentarily, but then gave her attention to his prominent jaw, placing gentle kisses as she worked her way down.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and remained still, inviting her mouth to explore. “Bored, yes, but John is irrelevant. I was merely observing your error in punctuality.”

She didn’t push it further, for now at least; her mind was wandering to other places. She knew she was right, and she wasn’t about to bicker with the most stubborn thirty two year old child in all of London. Instead, she began to press open mouthed kisses against his neck, nipping a bit. She too had acknowledged the different things that made Sherlock react, and a huge smile of satisfaction spread across her face as she heard a low, guttural groan escape his lips, pulling her mouth away and staring up at him, biting her lip.

He slowly pushed her up against the shelf; their bodies close as their mouths crashed together. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, sliding her tongue along his lower lip; her mouth never left his. He could feel her undoing the buttons of his shirt as their mouths moved together and he smirked under the kiss, pressing himself forward against her.

It took a moment before Molly pulled her mouth away, her heart pounding and breath ragged, looking a bit shy and biting her lip again as she realized where they were.

He pressed his forehead against hers, “They won’t mind, Molly.”

Her mouth was agape as she whispered “Sherlock!”

“They can’t hear you either,” he said, a low chuckle erupted from his throat.

She giggled and gave him one last kiss before he put her down; this was the first boyfriend that would entertain corpse humour with her…

* * *

 

Newlyweds John and Mary Watson had been on their honeymoon for two weeks now, and would not be back for another week. It had been four months since their wedding day, and since Sherlock and Molly reunited. John and Mary were both swamped with work at the time of the wedding, so they wanted to take their honeymoon when it was calmer, so they could properly relax.

Sherlock had been bored out of his mind. He usually let John find him a case, and so there wasn’t much for him to do. He had been going in and bothering Lestrade for a case, but Greg had nothing, and got fed up with Sherlock easily, shooing him away from the station; he said he would give him a call if he had anything. He was also missing John, but he wouldn’t openly admit that to Molly.

They walked into Molly’s flat and Sherlock plopped down on the sofa while Molly went into the kitchen to make herself tea. Sherlock made himself comfortable being in her flat, and claimed the sofa as his spot.

She sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock, bringing tea for the two of them.

“John’s moving out next weekend…,” Molly began.

“He’s not actually,” he said, looking up to her, a wide smile across his face as he looked down at his tea.

 “Sorry?” Molly asked, placing her tea down.

“They have decided to be permanent residents of 221C.”

She turned her head slowly toward Sherlock. “How did you ever get Mary to agree to that?”

“I made my argument that it would make sense for them to stay, as 221C would give them privacy.  And while 221C is obviously close to where John does most of his work, it also allows Mary to be closer to her work. “

“And when that didn’t work?” she asked curiously.

“There was a… condition or two.”

“Really?” Molly asked as she let out a chuckle.

“I gave my word that I would no longer use a gun inside the building, and that I would not enter their flat without permission; including that I am restricted from picking the lock.”

Molly let out a small laugh. “How selfless of you, Mr. Holmes,” she said playfully as she traced her index finger along his jaw.

She was silent now, staring at his mouth, and clearly daydreaming as she bit her lip. They were definitely in the honeymoon stage. She felt like a teenage girl, but she couldn’t keep her hands off of him lately, and it didn’t seem much easier for him.

Sherlock leaned in towards her, only a small distance between their faces now. He gently lifted her chin up with his hand while his thumb relaxed her bottom lip; she pressed a gentle kiss to his thumb on her lips and then looked up to his eyes, a shy smile on her face.

“There is a more important matter to discuss though, Dr. Hooper.”

“Yes?” she asked curiously, trying to keep her attention still on his eyes and away from his mouth. She had him now, yet she was still always in awe that she could actually have captured the heart of Sherlock Holmes, and it made her want him all of the time.

 “When are _you_ moving to Baker Street?”


	23. Chapter 23

“What?” Molly said curiously, her doe eyes bulging.

“Well, it is logical, as John will be downstairs and I will still not have a flat mate,” Sherlock stated clearly.

Molly winced- she knew that Sherlock had more reasons than that, but he always thought logically first. If he let out why, or gave his feelings, that came later. But this had been the fear Molly had before, that it made her feel like a replacement. She wanted him to _want_ her to move in- to say it if that was why...

“I don’t know, Sherlock… maybe it’s too early. When John gets back you’ll surely be busier and wanting to do your own thing…” She was making up excuses.

It was also that she was afraid she would wreck this. It was what she wanted all along and she felt if it moved too fast, something bad might happen- so she assumed the best thing would be to hold back for a little longer. She wanted to be absolutely sure before she moved in, wanted _him_ to be absolutely sure, but his mind was already made up.

“Molly, we spend most nights sleeping in the same flat, I don’t know what the difference would be if we were living together, except that it would be more convenient to see each other.

 _Convenient-_ another word surfacing that bothered her with problems before.

“I don’t…” Molly started, moving her eyes around.

“There’s something else,” Sherlock said, immediately deducing her when her nervous mannerisms became clear. He lifted her chin with his index finger, making her look at him, “and I’ve said something wrong.”

As Molly opened her mouth, the front door opened, revealing a woman they had not seen in a long time.

Sherlock frowned at the sight of Irene Adler, but Molly had a big smile on her face. “Irene!” she said excitedly- also glad for the interruption- standing up and going over to give her a hug.

Irene was surprised at the affection, it was not something she was used to from other acquaintances, but she politely returned the gesture.

Molly pulled back and looked at Irene, and immediately Irene’s face changed. “My god,” she observed, looking between the two of them.

“You’ve taken Sherlock Holmes virginity.”

Molly held a small smile still, but blushed as Irene’s words hit her ears.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, standing up. “Yes, is that such a difficult concept for everyone?” he asked, walking over to the two of them. “What do you want, Miss Adler?”

“I need assistance in doing someone a favour, and I was wondering if you might be interested in helping me.”

“Yet you came to Molly’s flat?”

“Yes, in fact, because I was talking to _her,_ ” Irene replied.

Molly looked at her wondrously, “me?”

“Yes,” she said, taking Molly’s arm like she was going to escort her as she had that first day in Scotland.

“Well- I guess so, I mean,” she said, looking to Sherlock.

He nodded at her, face expressionless; he wasn’t sure what Irene was up to.

* * *

 

They were out of the flat, walking down the street. As they turned the corner, they saw an official-looking car waiting for them. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hooper.”

“What?” Molly asked, a bit concerned now.

“He just wants to talk to you- I didn’t have much of a choice in this. I was in London, and of course he found me, so he said the government would not know I was here if I brought you here so he could talk to you.”

Molly was still confused, biting her lip, but she nodded, getting into the car.

* * *

 

“Dr. Hooper,” Mycroft began, examining her.

She had never really spoken to Mycroft directly before, and she couldn’t say that she knew all that much about him. He was a Holmes, that’s for sure. His mannerisms and expressions were like that of Sherlock, but still a distinct difference between the two. Molly had gotten to know the softer side of Sherlock Holmes, which is not something Molly thought people ever got the chance to see from Mycroft; he was much more of a closed book. Definitely just as much dedicated to his work as Sherlock, but they still weren’t the same.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything particularly interesting about you,” he said, still looking her over, “except maybe that you seem to be a woman that enjoys working with corpses.”

Molly’s cheeks blushed red from the insult and she kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with Mycroft. What the hell was she supposed to say to that?

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve instructed Miss Adler to bring you here.”

She looked to him, nodding.

“I merely wish to see what has him so interested. Sherlock does not waste his time with uninteresting things, yet I know he has been spending much of his time with you, and it seems my brother is very interested in being _close_ with you.”

Molly shifted in her seat awkwardly.

“And I also wanted to see if there was some _other_ way that you could be compensated.”

“Sorry?” she finally asked.

“My brother does not have the time for feelings, nor for sentiment. Most of our lives we have learned to push feelings out, that they are not important and they make us weak. For some reason, you have gotten to him.”

He paused for a moment, but Molly said nothing, she was trying to understand what and why Mycroft was saying all of this.

“When I go to Sherlock for help, it is because it is necessary that he does so- and is usually a matter of national importance. It is like pulling teeth with him- you see, he has a childish grudge against me- and with his feelings for you in the way, his mind will not be completely focused on finding case after case. I am not sure that it is best for my brother to get distracted in matters of _sentiment_.”

Molly brushed aside the awkwardness she was feeling to make the room for the anger rising within her. “You’re trying to _pay_ me to leave Sherlock alone?” she asked, her eyes narrow as she stared at him.

“Not to leave him _alone_ \- that would be too obvious, very dramatic. Just to… distance yourself from him; remain colleagues as you were before and give him your assistance in the morgue, but loosen your relations outside of there. It is essential for his work.”

Molly closed her eyes, and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth once, trying to relax.

“I’m not sure what you did to Sherlock, Mycroft, to make him dislike you, but maybe it is because you don’t have your best interests in Sherlock’s _feelings._ If you’re his brother, you should be able to respect the decisions that he makes.”

“You will become uninteresting to him eventually, Dr. Hooper. Once he has learned you like a book, you will be swept away with the rest of the boring things Sherlock places aside. You should consider this a favour that I am doing you with my warning.”

Molly shook her head, trying not to grind her teeth, “stop the car.”

“Nonsense, Dr. Hooper. We can return you closer to your flat, though I do wish you would keep an open mind about this situation. We can reward you handsomely, even if the decision is not made immediately.”

Molly couldn’t take it though, this was disgusting. Of all things she believed in, it was love over money, and she had Sherlock’s own brother trying to throw it at her like she was some sort of whore. If Sherlock decided that he didn’t want her anymore, than that was different, but she wasn’t going to have others telling her what Sherlock was going to do. She loved him, she always will, and she accepted the fact that he would probably never be able to love her back, but he cared for her. They’ve been through so much- this was never going to persuade her.

As the car slowed to a stop at a red light, Molly opened the door. “No,” she said, distraught clear in her voice. “No, I’m not talking about this anymore. Goodday, Mr. Holmes. Bring it up with your brother if you are _so concerned,_ ” she huffed.

As she stepped out, she shut the car door and walked across the street. She wrapped her arms around herself and continued to walk in the rain and dark. It was not long before an arm slipped around hers again.


	24. Chapter 24

“I’m sorry, Molly,” the familiar voice said sadly as Molly looked at her. This was the first time Irene replied to her so informally.

Molly nodded and sighed. She kept her eyes straight, and shook her head. “It isn’t your fault… Though I wish people would stop telling me what they think Sherlock will do.”

It was odd, it seemed even Irene had changed a bit. As Molly had grown fond of Irene with their new closeness from Scotland, Irene had felt Molly was the first… friend maybe wasn’t the quite word, but the closest thing to one Irene had in a long time. There was nothing Molly expected from her; Irene was always being used for something- whether it is for sex, or power, or some mess she could get people out of. Molly liked the advice Irene gave her, but she didn’t demand any of that from her.

* * *

 

Molly walked into the door of the flat and shut it quietly. She found Sherlock lying on her bed on his back, his eyes closed. She assumed he was asleep- at least she hoped so because she was cold and tired and she just wanted to sleep this mood off.

She changed her damp clothes and then climbed into bed, trying her best not to shiver as she pulled the covers over her.

She closed her eyes and was slowly starting to drift, but she felt Sherlock pressed against her back now.

“He upset you.”

“How did you…?”

“On your way downstairs I saw the car turning onto the other street- it confirmed that you were not in any danger. Well, physical danger,” he scoffed.

Molly sighed, turning around so she was cuddling into his chest, but didn’t say anything.

“Molly,” he said, placing his chin on top of her head.

She was still cranky though; Molly didn’t take her feelings out on other people, but she was so _tired_ of other people telling her things like they knew what Sherlock was going to do, more than he knew even. “Can we just talk about this tomorrow?” she said, sighing again.

He kissed the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair. “Mycroft is quite like me; I know what types of things he can say to upset you.”

She sat up now and looked at him, a strained look on her face. “Sherlock, you are not like him. You have a big heart, as much as you don’t like to show it. Your brother has one too, everyone does; he just refuses to let anyone see, but I bet he could if he tried.”

“You see too much good in people, Molly. My brother does not have a heart for anyone, and I am well informed that I do not have one either; it is common within the Holmes family.”

“Sherlock,” she said, shaking her head, “yes- yes you _do_.” She moved closer to him, looking into his eyes.

This was one of those moments where Sherlock heard her say things he did not expect- he watched her eyes with intense curiosity. “You do care. You’re a consulting detective, not a criminal- you could be like Moriarty if you wanted to. You have a mind that enables you to do anything you set yourself to, but you choose to use it to help people. Although it may be more for your own personal interest, you’re still choosing helping others.”

She intertwined her fingers with his before she continued, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand before looking back up at him. “And maybe you don’t care as much about those you do not know, but look at the people who you _do_ care for. Like John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade; you disappeared from everything, gave up everything for months to save them. John was so angry with you, but he understands why you did it. And I’ve seen you care for others- I’ve seen you care for me,” she said, surprise in her voice with her confidence in saying that.

Sherlock squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say. His mind was calm, it was resting; she was probably the only person that could do that. John was essential, in that he assisted him with the adventurous part of his life, and had opened him up to seeing things differently. But Molly- she was so different. She left him speechless with her kind words, she saw through his stern demeanour most of the time. There was never a moment that Molly would call him a machine, or heartless.

“I’m tired, we can just talk about this tomorrow,” she finally said as she was beginning to let her tired eyes close. She lay down against him again, placing a gentle kiss under his jaw. “I love you.”

He tensed a bit, and when she looked up again, he looked like he was trying to find words to say. It was not the usual occurrence for someone to make Sherlock the one unable to find words. But this was not familiar; he had never said those three words to anyone before. He knew it would make her happy if he said them, but he felt confused, it made his chest tighten.

“Sherlock, I don’t- I don’t expect that,” glancing down now. “Please, the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable,” a hint of sadness in her voice.

“I’m not,” he said sincerely, but still unable to find the other words he was looking for, and so he just kissed her cheek. 

All of these emotions were so new- much more to him than to her. She had wanted to share her feelings with him for so long, but Sherlock had never been close with anyone, and this was certainly his first relationship. He had felt for so long that it was so unnecessary and not worth his time to invest himself with sentiment, but he made her feel differently.

He lay there all night, trying to absorb this concept- _did he_ feel the way that she did? How does one know? His pulse elevated and eyes dilated around her, but… He shook his head angrily. Of course, feelings and emotions had no one logical answer. It irritated him indefinitely- why was this the only thing that Sherlock could not fully wrap his mind around when Molly was so entirely sure of how she felt for him?

 


	25. Chapter 25

When John returned, it did not take long before the two were back to business as usual. Sherlock had been eager to take cases while John was away, so he jumped at the opportunity. And although Sherlock could keep John constantly working through a case, there was still a breaking point when John would let him know that he “needed to sleep like a normal human being,” and would flee downstairs to 221C and his wife.

Molly would usually see Sherlock a lot less during cases- unless there was a reason for him to come into the morgue. Molly didn’t mind the lack of time spent together while he was on a case though, because his work made him happy, kept things interesting for him; she kept herself busy during the day, spending time both at work and with Mary. Though she loved that he would always send her a few texts during the day- so that Molly would know that he was okay, and it soothed her.

And every once in a while (during a case), she would wake up in the morning and find Sherlock awake next to her (they slept in the same flat whenever he was not on a case). His mind would still be completely focused on the case, and of course he didn’t sleep, but for some reason when he was with her, listening to her quiet, rhythmic breathing, it would allow him to think more clearly.

They had finished up a case, and Sherlock was pacing back and forth along the sitting room of 221B, talking to John.

“Sherlock, what is the bloody matter? You’ve been pacing since we got back here.”

“I don’t understand why Molly doesn’t live here.”

“Neither do I,” he said, and then looked at him more curiously, “why doesn’t she, Sherlock?”

“Do you think if I knew the answer to that that I would be asking you, John?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Well, have you tried asking her?”

“Yes,” Sherlock stated.

“Wait, really? You asked?”

“I’ve just said that, yes?”

“Well, yeah, but… this is one of those things, Sherlock, that you aren’t brilliant with… I didn’t think you’d know how to properly ask.”

“Clearly not,” he said, continuing to pace, “or she just doesn’t want to. I gave her my reasoning, and explained to her why it was logical. It would be beneficial to her, and create less of a burden, so I don’t know why…”

“That’s your problem right there.”

Sherlock stopped in his steps and turned to John. “What do you mean?”

“You told her that her moving to Baker Street would be logical, and convenient?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell her that you _wanted_ her to be there, and give her an emotional reason?”

“Well, of course I want her here- why would I ask if I didn’t want her here?”

“But you didn’t tell her that?”

“No,” he said; as he sat down in his chair across from John, steepling his hands under his chin as he kept his gaze on his friend. “I don’t understand why. Logical reasoning makes the most sense…”

“And feelings should just be assumed?”

“John, I don’t _assume_ anything, I deduce. Though, I suppose it would be assuming for someone like you, or Molly.”

“It doesn’t work like that though, Sherlock. You can give all the logical reasons you want, but it won’t change. You can’t just _assume_ someone’s feelings.” He paused for a moment, and then continued. “She has told you that she loves you, yes?”

Sherlock tensed for a second, and then closed his eyes, sighing softly- “on more than one occasion.”

“And did you know that she loves you before she said it?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but it was clearly obvious that she cared for me…”

“But did you _know_?”

“Well, no, I didn’t have the evidence to make that final decision, I could have deduced it out if I tried, and I probably would have been right…”

Then it clicked- John knew that it was the only way to really discuss matters of feelings with Sherlock, to use scientific reasoning to get him to understand. Molly could do all she wanted for him, and he could assume all that she felt about him, but there was always things that Molly said that took him aback; there were always things he had never expected her to say, and therefore did not have the evidence to prove until the words fell from her mouth. This was the same case with those three words, he wasn’t expecting them the first time she said it, but it was confirmed when she did.

And that was the key to feelings- you could look for hard evidence all you wanted, and make your deductions, but emotions aren’t tangible. Expressing them was the only way to fully prove them.

“And you love her,” John stated, smiling, folding his hands in his lap as he kept his eyes on Sherlock.

It broke Sherlock’s train of thought; he opened his eyes and moved his hands down into his lap. “Sorry?”

“You _love_ her- I know we’ve just discussed expressing feelings are proof, but I know you do.”

He began to get defensive, and would try to hopelessly defend himself, but John wasn’t an idiot. “John, don’t be ridiculous, you know I don’t think about-”

“Oh, _bollocks,_ Sherlock, I knew it the second I saw you approach her after I shot Moran, and then I knew when you screwed up with her and acted strange for months, and then it was pretty clear when I saw you with her at my wedding. You didn’t even stir around Irene Adler,” and then he coughed, “who the first time you met her she was naked. And so I knew that just being,” he waved his hand, “physically attracted to her wouldn’t phase you.”

“Plus, I know these kinds of things better than you,” John continued, a smug expression crossing his face. “I’m a married man, I get this stuff.” He was giving himself a lot credit.

“Please, John, how many failed relationships have you been through to be able to figure that out?”

Sherlock wasn’t denying it now. “More than you have, much more than you, and so I think I’ve got the upper hand on this one.”

When Sherlock said nothing, John spoke up again.

“And so you love her then?”

And with this, a knock was heard at the door. 


	26. Chapter 26

Molly had been thinking about it a lot, and couldn’t get it out of her head all day at work. She was thinking about their previous unfinished conversation about her moving to Baker Street. She wanted to, of course she wanted to, but Sherlock hadn’t given her the reasons she was looking for. She wanted to know that he wanted her there, because he cared for her and wanted to see her more. Instead, he had told her it was the logical and convenient thing to do, and it made her sad.

But she knew Sherlock, she knew this was how he worked, and there probably _were_ underlying feelings behind his presented motives. Maybe she should bring up the conversation again, maybe she was ready. She loved Sherlock more than anything, and he had seemed adamant on her moving there, or so it seemed before Irene walked in the door. She had come straight from work as Sherlock told her to do since their case was ended and he had free time now.

“Hello?” a small voice said from behind the door.

John was about to get up, but Sherlock was halfway to the door now. He opened it, looking at Molly, but not saying anything. He was trying to place his feelings for her- trying to figure out if those proper words really fit Molly Hooper. Molly was getting a bit uncomfortable by the silence as she stood in the doorway.

“Hello…” she said again, breaking the awkward silence and quickly placing a small kiss on his cheek as she snuck around him into the doorway, going over to sit down on the sofa.

Sherlock said nothing but closed the door and took the chair next to the sofa. His hands were steepled under his chin again, but his gaze remained on her.

After greeting Molly, John turned on the television, hoping to break the uncomfortable quiet and give him and Molly something to focus on besides Sherlock’s eyes staring at her. He was still trying to sort out the conversation that he and John just had.

It was not long before Molly was fidgeting in her seat, trying to keep her eyes on the television. John noticed that Sherlock had seemed to not acknowledge that he was even there though; maybe Sherlock would bring up their previous discussion if he was alone with her.

 “Well,” John said, standing up, “I’m going to go see if Mary’s home…”

Molly gave a shy smile up at John, but Sherlock remained looking at Molly. He knew Mary would not be home for another twenty three minutes, but dismissed it anyway. “Fine.”

They sat in their seats, Molly had kept her eyes on the telly, but she was growing more uncomfortable by the minutes.

After a few minutes, Molly closed her eyes, growing tense, “Is there something wrong?” Her eyes shot open again though. “Oh god,” she said, sniffing her shirt and her hair, “did I not get the smell out?”

She looked horrified- she was always self-conscious that she would smell like the morgue, which was never in fact a good smell.

“You smell nice, like you usually do,” Sherlock noted, “vanilla and mint.”

She stopped and looked at him. “What? I do?” Her brows furrowed. “Sherlock, are you- are you alright?”

“You’re asking me if I’m okay because I’ve complimented you?”

“Yes, and- well… why were you staring at me, then?” and then her eyes shifted around again, “why are you still?”

He smirked at her discomfort- she hadn’t been so fidgety around him since they were together, but he found amusement in it on the occasions she acted like this, rather than annoying like he had found it before the ice had broken.

“Because.”

 _Because?_ Sherlock Holmes, who always had a mouthful to say and everything to deduce, much more than his brain had capacity to keep in… that’s all he could say was bloody because? He was acting strange, that was for certain. Molly didn’t know how she was going to bring up the conversation about moving in; she was trying to decide if it was really the right time.

Molly stood up to go to the kitchen. This was her normal routine when she came to Baker Street after work- no one could keep her away from her tea.

As she was taking what she needed out of the cabinets, he had swiftly moved in not far behind her. She turned around and nearly dropped the items in her hands, gasping. He took them out of her hands and placed them on the counter, standing close to her.

He had a strange look to him- most definitely not one she had ever seen before. He looked fidgety, maybe uncomfortable, but much focused on her.

“We still did not finish our conversation from a bit ago.”

“Yes, I know, I was going to-”

“I did not ask you properly.”

“It’s okay…” she trailed off, wondering if he meant it the way she had been looking at the conversation.

“I want you here.”

She was silent. “My reasoning was that it is logical because we spend most nights in the same flat, and because it is convenient as it causes less hassle of going back and forth,” he stopped to prove himself though, as much as he was trying he couldn’t help it- “although that is most definitely true… but also because I like seeing you all of the time, and I- I would like to spend more time with you. Logic comes to my mind first, and so it is the first explanation that I am willing to give. I have never been in a relationship with anyone, Molly, and so expressing my feelings is not something that I find naturally easy…”

She smiled softly at his words, cupping one side of his face. “You _want_ me here?”

“Yes,” he replied, kissing her on the lips once, and then burying his nose within her hair. He placed a few soft kisses to her throat, and then his nose nudged against the side of her neck as he whispered to her. “I love you.”

“What?” she choked.


	27. Chapter 27

When Sherlock said something, it was out, and he felt it tiresome to repeat himself, especially when the other party had obviously heard him the first time. This was not the case right now; it was _relieving_ to be able to say it to her, and he did feel that way for her.

He pulled his head away to look at her, finding her eyes filling. “I love you,” he said a second time.

“I-” she began, tears running down her cheeks; still in shock- she had never expected him to say those words to her. She thought she would be fine and would accept it not ever being said, but this felt a million times better. “I love you too.”

She was up against him now, lips crashing onto his as her hands were lightly pressed against his chest, snaking up to cup both sides of his face.  His lips moved against hers gracefully, he was being so gentle with her, kissing her over and over as she was pressed up against the counter.

Molly pulled her mouth away from his, but kept her hands still on his face. She was staring him in the eyes, and moved her hand down so she had her fingers pressed against his wrist. The corner of her mouth creeped into a smirk as Sherlock realised that _she_ was taking his pulse now, and examining the dilation of his eyes as she let out a small gasp.

“I don’t know how to break the dreadful news to you, Mr Holmes,” she began, shaking her head.

He raised his eyebrows at her, smiling as she continued. “A very rare condition: rapid heartbeat and racing pulse, very dilated eyes, these are very dire circumstances.” She was trying to make herself sound serious, but the smile on her face would not fall.

She stood on her tiptoes now, barely an inch between her lips and Sherlock’s as she spoke quietly. “You must go to bed straight away, and take rest for the remainder of the night.”

“I’m not sure that I need to _rest,_ ” he whispered, moving his hands to grip her hips.

“You have never had a reputation for listening to your doctors, Mr Holmes,” she said, letting out a giggle and he met their lips again finally.

Sherlock picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he continued to kiss her. He began walking towards his bedroom as Molly moved her mouth against his skin, gently making her way along his jaw and down his neck.

As Sherlock put her down on the bed and was leaning over her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back down to her and into a much fiercer kiss than before. Her tongue snaked his lips apart as she let her mouth explore his with open mouthed kisses, nipping down on his bottom lip.

He let out a groan, letting his mouth go wild against hers now, pressing his body closer against hers.  She moved her hands down to undo his shirt and he pulled away from the kiss. Her breath was heavy and she let out a whimper as he pushed her arms down against the bed, pinning her wrists.

She looked into his eyes for a moment as he gave her a devious smirk, keeping her still against the bed as his mouth began exploring elsewhere. He kissed along her jaw, and then grazed his lips slowly along her neck, biting hard enough to leave marks as he made his way to her collarbone. 

He then moved her wrists so they were together above her head so that he only needed one hand to hold them there. He used his other to undo the buttons down her shirt, kissing down as he finally released her hands, using the other to reach under her and undo her bra. He pulled it off, and let it go missing onto the floor, cupping them both as he gave attention to her breasts. He kissed them all over, taking each nipple in his mouth, and sucking it gently before he bit down on it. She arched her back, letting out a louder moan.

As he began kissing down lower on her body, she tried to tug him back up to her level, her hands now free, and desperate to move her mouth against his again. When she did this though, he refused to move, looking up at her and shaking his head, determined to torture her more with pleasure.

She whined as he pulled her pants down, kissing down her stomach and around her waistline. He left her knickers on, kissing along the inside of her thighs, and pressing a knuckle against her front. Molly’s brain was going wild; she thread her hands through his hair, tugging a bit as she began moaning louder.

He finally moved back up, starting off kissing her a bit more gently as she was losing herself against his mouth. Her hands were still threaded through his hair as she pulled him closer to her, grinding her hips into his.

She pulled his shirt open, and quickly pushed it off his shoulders, leaving it now forgotten on the floor as she reached down to undo his pants. He helped her push them down, kicking them off with the rest of their clothes.

His hands began to move down as he kept his lips to hers, finding their way towards band of her knickers, starting to slide them down, but she rolled them over so she was on top of him, straddling his hips. She took his hands and pushed them away from her knickers and to his sides, shaking her head. “Mr Holmes,” she whispered as she began kissing all along his jaw and neck, moving her hips against his, “do you really think that I would let you get away with teasing me without repayment. You are supposed to be resting remember; this condition is rather serious.”

They were both smirking as she began kissing down his chest, pinching one of his small nipples between her fingers, making him let out a faint, inaudible growl. She moved her hand farther down now, dragging her nails down his chest hard enough to leave marks.

She kissed along his waist as she pulled his boxers down and off, taking him in her hand, moving in long, slow strokes as she looked up at him. His eyes were closed as he arched up into her hand.

Molly took her hand away and moved back up now. Sherlock kissed her once before pushing her onto her back, and slid her panties off of her. He nipped at her neck as he entered her, only moving halfway in before pulling back out; when he moved back into her, he let his whole length fill her, making her let out a loud moan. She wrapped her legs around him, scraping her nails down his back and finally digging them into his arse, trying to pull him in. She was desperate and frantic for him now, biting hard at his neck as he continued to move into her.

He moved harder and deeper into her while Molly became tighter around him. He kissed her intensely, leaving her lips swollen and flushed as he pumped into her a few more times. Sherlock’s release had come first, but when he did, Molly’s name was weakly moaned from his lips against her ear; this pushed Molly over the edge, moaning loud as her climax hit her.

“Sherlock,” she breathed as he rolled off and next to her, pulling her onto her side to face him. Molly shivered, still trying to recover from her intense orgasm. She brought her hands up to cup his face, both of them trying to catch their breaths as she was up close against him. He gently grabbed one of her hands from his cheek and laced his fingers with hers before burying his face in her hair again. He lazily grazed his lips against her neck.

He pulled away and was looking at her now. Their pulses calmer now as she quietly traced her finger along his jaw.

“I love you,” she said, even happier now that she could expect a response from him.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice quiet and gentle, giving her a small peck on her still swollen lips.

She pressed her forehead against his now- “so when shall I move my stuff into _our_ flat?” she asked, a tired smile across her face.

“As soon as I am recovered,” he said smiling as he moved his lips closer to hers, “I think I may have to extend the doctor’s orders beyond tomorrow morning and into the night.”


End file.
